


Shield me

by thistels



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Assassin Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Eating Disorders, Everyone Needs A Hug, Homophobia, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Manipulation, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Rumlow is a bitch, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, but what else is new, minor reference to incest, really dark backstories, sharon is a bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-10-20 07:18:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10657626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistels/pseuds/thistels
Summary: When James Barnes shows up on the radar of the international intelligence community after years of being presumed dead, Steve Rogers is sent in to protect him. Steve, being a decorated war-hero turned professional bodyguard seems like the perfect choice to protect Barnes, but it is up to Steve to find out whether Bucky really needs protection from the world or from himself.James Barnes has doubled as a ballerina, spy and assassin for HYDRA since he was brought into the organisation by a teacher at the Red Room Academy when he was a teenager until he was found out leaking information to the CIA. But before he could be eliminated Mr. Alexander Pierce stepped in. He persuaded HYDRA that it would be a waste to kill an asset like Bucky and now the two of them has resurfaced in New York City, at the Odinson Ballet Company.The story is currently put on ice, I'm going to re-write some parts and then start publishing again when I get the time!





	1. The Bodyguard

”Tell me again, why does a ballerina need a bodyguard?” Steve’s arms were crossed in front of his chest and he was just about ready to walk out the door. He had served on the most dangerous front-lines in the world and had been assigned to the president’s protection detail before the last election for Christ’s sake. And now his boss wanted him to babysit some dancer? No, not wanted – _demanded,_ and was threatening him with unemployment if Steve didn’t take the assignment.

“It’s classified.” The woman standing next to Steve’s boss said. Agent something. Agent Carter? Steve might actually have liked her no-bullshit-attitude and found her determination attractive if she wasn’t currently forcing him to take a job but refusing to tell him what said job would entail.

“How am I supposed to protect someone if I don’t know what to look out for?” Steve said and turned his angry glare on the agent instead of his boss. He was usually well-behaved and would probably feel bad about snapping at a woman like that later, but he was having a bad week. A bad year really, but whatever.

“I suggest you look out for bad guys.” The woman said without raising and eyebrow or taking the bait. Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that. Really helpful lady.

“Look, I don’t understand why I have to do this. Don’t the CIA or the MI5 have their own agents to protect their assets?” He said, trying to reign in his temper.

“Usually we do, and we wouldn’t bring a civilian into this if we had any other choice.” Steve was about to protest loudly at being called a civilian because sure he wasn’t currently affiliated with the army at the time but he was no damn civilian. But something about the look Agent Carter shot him made him keep his protests to himself. “But we can’t be sure no one inside the agencies haven’t been compromised.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up at that.

“Just take the damn assignment Rogers!” Director Fury always spoke louder than was strictly necessary for any given conversation but the real dramatic flair to his order was added when he pushed out of his chair, bent over his desk and stared Steve down. “It is a matter of national security for god’s sake.”

Agent Carter cleared her throat at that. “More like the security of the entire world actually.” She said, her British accent completely calm as if she was talking about the weather.

“How can one dancer be this important?” Steve still couldn’t quite wrap his head around that and he really wanted to keep arguing until someone gave him some actual answers, but the look Director Fury gave him was enough to shut him up. How a man with only one eye could have such an intimidating glare was beyond Steve.

“Fine. I’ll take the assignment. Wouldn’t be like me to pass up a chance to save the world, now would it?” He said after a few seconds of silence. It been a losing battle from the start really. His boss, the CIA and the British intelligence begging for his help to prevent an international disaster – Steve was pretty sure that his best friend would use the term wet dream to describe what the scenario meant to him.

“I don’t like this” the man standing beside agent Carter started. He’d been quiet up till now since he introduced himself as agent Phillips with the CIA, but he swallowed whatever protest he was about to voice when agent Carter looked at him. She had a stare almost as terrifying as director Fury and Steve almost sympathized with him.

“Perfect, Steve. May I call you Steve?” Carter said once she was sure that agent Phillips wouldn’t interrupt and when she faced Steve she had a bright smile on her face. The complete one-eighty in her mood took Steve by surprise.

“Um, yeah, sure.” He uttered, and yeah, _real smooth there Steve._

“Here is a file with everything you need to know about Barned right now. I will be your contact and you will report to me and to me alone. You’ll talk to no one else about the specifics of your assignment, I don’t care what badge they carry or what rank they have.”

“Yes ma’am.” Steve said and took the file she offered him.

“Oh please, I’m way too gorgeous to be a ma’am. Call me Peggy.” She said, smiling with her entire body and Steve felt like he was dealing with two different people. The fierce MI5-agent who wouldn’t take no for an answer and the friendly woman who was impossible not to like.

Agent Phillips nodded to Steve as the two made their way out of the office and Peggy turned in the door and blew Director Fury a kiss. “Nick.” She said, before closing the door behind her and immediately engaging in some kind of argument with Agent Phillips which Steve couldn’t make out the words of as they walked down the hall.

“Nick?” Steve asked his boss, raising an eyebrow and wondering curiously what kind of history Peggy and Fury had for her to be on a first name base with one of the most intimidating Steve had ever met. Terrorists included.

“You call me Nick and you’ll live to regret it Rogers.” Director Fury said sternly and Steve didn’t believe that his boss was joking for a second. “Now get out of here and get to reading, you’re on detail first thing tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Steve blinked. He’d been on assignment in New York, protecting one of the most prominent lawyers in the country just two days ago when he had gotten the call from Fury, telling him his contract with Mrs. Potts was going to be taken over by someone else and that he was to get his ass one a plane back to D.C. and SHIELD headquarters right this second. And now he was supposed to start his new assignment tomorrow? That was way off protocol. Transfers usually took weeks, phasing out one bodyguard and getting all parts used to the new people and catching them up on rituals and threat-assessment. And Steve had never gotten assigned to someone overnight like this before.

“Major world crisis’s waits for no man, Captain.” Fury stated.

Steve just nodded and left Director Fury’s office. When his military title was thrown around like that it meant that Fury was dead serious.

***

 _"A ballerina?”_ Sam laughed at the other end of the line and Steve rolled his eyes even though his friend couldn’t see him. _“I mean a real Russian princess with pointy shoes and an eating-disorder? I mean, is ballet even still a thing?”_

“Russian Prince.” Steve corrected him.

 _“A male ballerina? They’ve got you babysitting a male ballerina? Who the hell did you piss off to get stuck with this gig?”_ Steve sighed at the sound of Sam laughing so hard he had to catch his breath.

“The international intelligence community, apparently.” Steve muttered into the phone as he flipped through the muted channels on his TV.

_“What?”_

“Nothing.” Steve sighed and clicked off the TV since he wasn’t going to watch any of the crappy shows on there anyway.

_“No but seriously, this is just too good. Do you have to wear a tutu?”_

“A what?”

 _“You know, the skirt.”_ Sam was caught in a fit of laughter again.

“The fact that you know what that is says more about you than it does about me really.” Steve said dryly and leaned back on his couch, taking a few swigs of his beer.

 _“Touché man.”_ Sam said and there was a comfortable quiet between them for a while. That was one of the things Steve valued most about his friendship with Sam. That he didn’t feel the need to fill every second with meaningless conversation, they could enjoy silence together and be perfectly happy with that.

“So, how’s that girl you were dating? Darcy?” Steve said after a while.

_“She left weeks ago, keep up man.”_

“Oh, sorry.” Steve felt a pang of guilt for not being caught up with the life of his best (and pretty much only) friend. He had always been a workaholic and tended to things to 150% or not at all.

 _“But probably for the best, that girl was seriously crazy.”_ Sam said.

“That’s how you like’em though.” Steve countered with a smile.

 _“Sure is!”_ Sam exclaimed proudly and Steve shook his head to himself.

 _“Hey, are you okay?”_ Sam asked then, suddenly serious and Steve swiped a hand across his face. Of course Sam would bring up Sharon, Steve should never have started talking about girls. Despite the day he’d had at work he’d been having a good night, he hadn’t thought about his ex at all. His peace of mind was ruined now though.

“I’m fine.” He answered, clearly not fooling anyone.

 _“Yeah and I can fly.”_ Sam answered and Steve could hear his friend rolling his eyes through the phone. _“Look man you need to get over that bitch, you are worth so much better.”_

“I’m fine.” Steve insisted, because he really didn’t have it in him to do this right now.

 _“That’s not what Phil says. Just listen man…”_ Sam started, but Steve cut him off.

“Oh, so you and Phil talk about me now, do you?”

_“No, man you know it’s not like that. He’s just worried and as your therapist he is supposed to be all professional”_

“Yeah, cause discussing our sessions with you is so professional.”

_“Just hear me out alright Steve? There is some advice he can’t give you cause he is your therapist. Go out, get wasted and sleep with a bunch of beautiful girls is one of them. But as your best friend, it’s kind of in my job description to do that.”_

“Do they not teach professionalism in psyche 101?” Steve said, sounding way more irritated than he actually was over the breach of privacy. He knew that Sam and his therapist, Dr. Coulson just cared about him.

_“You need a rebound. Or ten.”_

“I need to get myself a shrink out of state.” Steve said pointedly but there wasn’t any real conviction behind his words. Dr. Coulson had actually helped him through a lot. Steve had been a wreck when he’d come back from active duty the first time and without Phil he’d probably be in a straight-jacket somewhere by now. “And I need to read up on my ballerina.”

_“Yeah yeah, just take care of yourself, alright Steve. Stop blaming yourself for Sharon, the thing between you two was all on her…”_

Steve hung up on Sam. He’d feel guilty and would apologize for that later. He just couldn’t handle his friend right now, especially when Sam got in fixer-mode. The two of them had first met when Steve was assigned to mandatory psychiatric evaluation after he got back stateside from his first tour, and Sam had been his therapist. But the two of them hit it off so well that Sam dropped Steve as a patient and the two of them became friends. Sam tended to forget that Steve wasn’t his patient though. Or maybe he pretended to forget. Either way, Steve just wanted to not think about Sharon right now. Or preferably ever again.

***

 _James Buchanan Barnes, professional dancer. Born in the states, raised in Russia. Ballet prodigy, attended the most prestige ballet-schools in all of Russia and had recommendations from all of his teachers and international critics. He seemed to drop off the face of the earth just before he turned 18 though, and didn’t resurface again until five years later. Then he was dancing with a company with heavy ties to the Russian mob and made international headlines in the ballet-circles with his opening performances. He worked in Russia for three more years and then there were another year of complete radio silence again, before Barnes resurfaced in America._ Although Steve suspected that the CIA and whatever other agencies had stakes in this particular dancer knew more than the files he’d been given omitted about these unaccounted for years. _Current status: Principal dancer with the Odinson Company in New York. Father: Deceased, cause of death unknown, murder swept under the rug by local authorities, known ties to international Russian criminals. Mother: Deceased, suicide. Sister: Rebecca, currently resides in NYC._

Steve went over the file he’d been reading the night before, making sure that the information about his new assignment stuck as he walked through the airport. He was so concentrated that he almost missed the stranger holding up a sign which clearly said STEVE ROGERS, SHIELD. Steve stopped, confused for a while and then he approached the man. Fury hadn’t said anything about a ordering a car and Steve certainly hadn’t done it himself. He cleared his throat as he stopped in front of the man holding the sign and gave a small wave. A wave? Seriously, what was he doing?

“Mr. Rogers?” The man asked in a tone Steve couldn’t quite decipher. Angry? Bored?

“Yeah, that’s me.” Steve answered, still slightly confused as to who the man was and why he was waiting for him.

“Mr. Pierce sent me to take you to the Company.” The man explained in the same tone.

“Ah, thanks. That’s okay though, I was going to check into my hotel and meet Mr. Barnes this afternoon.” Steve answered.

“Mr. Pierce insists you meet with him before you meet with Mr. Barnes. To discuss the details of your contract.” Steve had known the man with the sign for all of two minutes, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if the man would physically force Steve to come with him if he took a minute longer.

“Alright then.” Steve said, putting a lot of effort into sounding like he didn’t minded the change of plans and hadn’t picked up on the threatening body language of his driver. This was a part of his cover, after all.

Agent Carter had called him that morning, saying that _"by the way, he was supposed to go under cover and not let anyone know that he was affiliated with the CIA, MI5 or anything other than SHIELD, his company. Mr. Barnes boss, Mr. Pierce was under the impression that he had hired Steve from SHIELD to be a bodyguard for his principal dancer, he knew nothing about the intelligence agencies involvement and the less Steve knew about the whole arrangement the better. Just act like Mr. Barnes was any other assignment. Except that the fate of the world as we know it might depend on the safety of Mr. Barnes. No pressure. I’m getting a call on the other line, talk to you soon, bye Steve."_ This assignment was already giving Steve a massive headache.

Steve followed the driver (he still hadn’t gotten the man’s name) out to a sleek black car which looked ridiculously expensive and got in the backseat. It turned out that the man who had picked him up wasn’t the driver at all. The driver was already in the car and the guy who Steve had just met got into the passenger-seat. Steve wasn’t too surprised though, the man had a way of carrying himself like a soldier and Steve would bet a lot of money that he was ex-military. More likely to be a bodyguard than a driver, and that would explain why he seemed anything but service-minded toward Steve. Picking people up at airports was probably beneath him.

“I’m Rumlow.” The man in the front said once they’d passed a few streetlights and Steve looked up at the back of the man’s seat in surprise. He’d been expecting an uncomfortably silent trip to their destination since neither of the man seemed all that chatty. “This here is Rollins.” The driver lifted a hand from the wheel of the car in salute before turning his attention back to the road.

“Steve. Rogers.” Steve said and gave a courteous smile even though the other men had their backs to him. Anyone could make a bad first impression, Steve had plenty of second chances to give to the man in front of him.

“So you’re the bodyguard, huh?” Rumlow asked with a laugh.

“Guess I am.” Steve offered.

“Personally I don’t know why a dancer would need a bodyguard, but hey, it’s not my place to tell the boss where to put his money, right?”

Steve made a non-committing noise and looked out the window at the passing city.

“Although there are some crazy people out there, sometimes even the ballet-circus gets some action.” Rumlow continued, laughing again as he seemed to remember some specific occasion. “This one time I had to fight a mentally disturbed kid who was fixating on one of the dancers. Completely nuts, thinking he was her sister or lover, possibly both or some shit like that. Almost ruined last year’s opening night. Man that guy was fast, almost cracked my nose before I could restrain him and keep him of the stage. Police found that he’d been stalking her for years, had all a real serial-killer-wall with a bunch of photos and everything.”

Steve didn’t really know how to answer that.

“So if you’re lucky maybe you’re in for some fun.”

“So stalkers and potential violence on opening nights is what counts as fun around here?” Steve asked, feeling that he had to contribute to the conversation somehow or be rude.

“That’s just the start. I’ll show you how to have some real fun in this city first night you’re off duty.” Rumlow promised. Steve didn’t mention that he’d grown up in New York and knew the city pretty well and could probably find all the fun he’d want by himself. He didn’t know anyone in the city anymore and it would be nice to have a friend once he wasn’t on duty. Even though Steve doubted that he and Rumlow shared the same opinion about what fun was.

***

Alexander Price made Steve’s skin crawl within five seconds of meeting the man. He was wearing the kind of suit which looked like it cost more than the average person’s yearly income and talked like everyone around him were there to entertain him and had no other purpose on this earth. He felt more like a bad stereotype from a movie about corrupt politicians, sexual harassments and smoke-filled back rooms than an actual person and Steve couldn’t stand him. If this had been just a normal assignment he’d have left the blond man’s office and called Fury to be reassigned in an instance. He really didn’t want that man as his boss. He felt like getting out of New York City simply because Price was in the vicinity.

But this wasn’t just a normal assignment. This was more important than him.

But it still sucked.

“James can be a little… high-maintenance.” Pierce said, pausing more for dramatic effect than actually searching for the right world Steve suspected. Wow, Steve’s mom would have been disappointed at her son for disliking someone this much without giving them a chance to prove themselves. But she’d also told him to always trust his instincts, so he’d go with that one and at least try to be professional and not start crying over disappointing his dead mother while at work.

“Most dancers are of course, but James is… something else. He likes to defy orders on principal alone, especially if it’s me giving them.” Mr. Pierce sighed and shook his head at how hopeless he seemed to think Mr. Barnes was. “He has a hard time letting people in and he has a great deal of pride. I’ve given him so much but he lashes out and tries to refuse my help, until he realizes that he can’t get by without it and then he gets even worse. It’s nothing personal really, I can understand him, quite frankly. I just wished that he would act more in his best interest.” Price rose from his chair and walked over to one of the windows of his office, passing Rumlow in standing in a corner.

Steve guessed that Rumlow was Pierce’s bodyguard. A man who wore expensive suits like that and hired bodyguards for his employees definitely had one of their own and Rumlow hadn’t left Pierce’s side since arriving at the office.

“He is a great dancer of course, possibly the best in the world, and he makes me a lot of money. But I don’t need the money. All I care about is his safety and wellbeing really. Sure he faces some threats from the masses, diluted people and mentally challenged characters who see him dance and think they have some deep connection. Dancers from other companies who hates being in his shadow, both here and overseas. Even colleagues at this very company who can’t match his talent. But the real threat to James, Mr. Rogers, is James himself. I fear he is bordering on substance-abuse, he takes home strangers from the shadiest places and gets way too drunk to make sound judgement-calls. One day he will pick a fight, fall or meet someone who takes advantage of him and he might be so injured that he can’t dance anymore.” Price paused and turned from staring out the window to look at Steve again.

“Not being able to dance would kill him.” Pierce said, his voice a tad desperate and sad at just imagining a fate like that befalling Mr. Barnes. He paced back to his desk, but rounded it to stand on the same side of it as Steve. “I’m not going to lie to you Mr. Rogers, James isn’t going to make this easy for you. He will probably try his hardest to push you away, like he always does to people who want to help him, and he has a lot of issues. I keep trying to get him to see a therapist about the pathological lying, the insecurities and he refuses to go and since he is adult there is only so much I can do, short of firing him. And I care too much about him to hurt him like that.

“SHIELD have a reputation for being the very best, and I know that this isn’t what you usually do Mr. Rogers, but please consider this arrangement.”

Steve didn’t know exactly when Mr. Pierce had started sounding sincere about how much he cared about his dancer, but Steve walked out of the man’s office having signed the contract and feeling considerably more favorably set toward the director. Maybe the man wasn’t that bad after all.


	2. The Ballerina

Steve had changed into the official uniform of SHIELD-operatives after his meeting with Alexander Pierce since the man had insisted that Steve go on the clock that very second. Steve didn’t protest, it wasn’t like he actually had anything better to do and the sooner he got to protecting his high-valued assignment the better. He wore a deep blue fitted t-shirt with a small white star on the chest. Three thick white lines circling his torso and the arms of the shirt until they boxed in the SHIELD-lettering on the backside, the company logo. He always felt a bit ridiculous in the t-shirt, given how much of his arms it showed off but when he’d complained about that to Fury he’d been instantly scolded. _Was he a fucking fashiondesigner? –No sir. –And besides, you are supposed to show the bad guy’s you’ve got muscle, scare’em away before they start a fight. Gees, complaining about wardrobe, did he LOOK like he cared? –No sir._ So now Steve just tugged at the hem of the short arms a few times before giving up and checking his weapons.

He carried a gun and a taser in his belt, a knife in his boot and back-up-cellphone. He’d been hesitant to have the gun on him, but then he’d remembered that the CIA and at least one other international agency were involved and decided that maybe the gun was good idea.

He stepped out of the empty office he’d changed in and handed his bags to Rollins, the driver who seemed to do a little bit of whatever Mr. Pierce needed him to do. Rumlow waited outside for him as well and put his arm around Steve’s shoulder and started dragging him down a corridor.

“I prefer my dancers with a lot less clothing that ballerinas, but I tell you man, sometimes being stuck in dance class the entire afternoon isn’t as bad as it sounds.” Rumlow said, way too loud and smugly for Steve’s taste but hey. That was how most guys talked, it wasn’t exactly Rumlow’s fault that he’d been raised into the macho-culture of the 21th century. And he was pretty certain that telling the man off would make Steve’s time at the Odinson Company way harder than it needed to be.

Rumlow opened a door in the hallway for them and stepped through it loudly. Steve was surprised at the piano-music that streamed out of the room as the door opened – hadn’t heard it at all from outside. It stopped abruptly when Rumlow let the door close behind them with a bang and Steve felt himself starting to blush as the attention of a full class of dancers turned to them.

“Well, carry on.” Rumlow said, annoyed as if the dancers had interrupted him with their class. He turned to Steve and shrugged a what-are-you-going-to-do? And the piano started up again as a woman commanded they take it from the top and the dancers made their way through the room to get to their places. Steve had no idea how ballet worked and he wasn’t really all that interested to understand either. He followed Rumlow to the back of the room and sat down on folding-chair like the second bodyguard and tried to give Rumlow the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the man had chosen for them to sit at the back so that they wouldn’t distract the dancers. The reason didn’t _have_ to be to look at their asses. Right?

Steve decided to focus on his assignment instead of the grin on Rumlow’s face as the female dancers bent forward over their bodies in a move that was anything but subtle. Identifying James Barnes wasn’t difficult – there weren’t many male dancers and only one with long hair, and once Steve had found him he didn’t really want to look away. There was something about the way the man moved that had Steve’s fingers itching to draw, which was weird. He hadn’t felt inspired to pick up a pen again since his mother died and he deployed for his first tour overseas.

Three hours into the rehearsal _(gees, three hours with only two short breaks for water, these dancers were crazy)_ and Steve was starting to understand some of the fuss over James. To say that the man was a great dancer didn’t even begin to cover it. He moved like the laws of gravity didn’t apply to him and made every motion look effortless. But judging by how other dancers struggled with the same positions none of it was as easy as Barnes made it look.

Rumlow provided the occasional hushed commentary, not seeming to notice that Steve didn’t want to listen to it or maybe not caring. “That blonde in the corner over there, she’ll fuck anyone once you get some tequila in her.” “The one with the one with the short her, no not her, the other one, yeah, she is a screamer, let me tell you.” “Girl in the red t-shirt, she sent nudes to Rollins last week and she still doesn’t know that we’ve all seen ‘em.” Steve was literally seconds from losing his patience and telling Rumlow off, not caring about causing a scene, when the piano suddenly stopped playing and the class let up for the day.

He got up from his chair, intent on walking up to his assignment and introducing himself when the woman who had been directing the class was suddenly standing in front of him and Rumlow, blocking their way with her determination despite being maybe a third of their combined size.

“Jane Foster, Ballet Master. I’m going to be frank – I don’t allow audiences in my class. It distracts the dancers and I will not make an exception again.” The woman said before Steve could even open his mouth to introduce himself. She was talking mostly to Rumlow and Steve got the feeling that they had this argument on quite a regular basis, but she didn’t hold back any hostility toward Steve either. He really couldn’t blame her.

“Aw Jane, come on, you know you miss me when I’ not here.” Rumlow said, his voice dripping with honey and just begging for sexual harassment-charges. “Side’s, you’re gonna have to start with the exceptions.” He continued in a more serious tone. “This is Rogers, the bodyguard.”

Steve couldn’t help but feel a bit ridiculous as the woman looked him up and down. He was used to that reaction, used to people trying to judge his capabilities based on the size of his body and even though they always seemed pleased with what they saw Steve just wished that the shirt he was wearing was less defining. The thing was like a second skin for god’s sake, he was seriously looking up who to talk to about getting some new costumes when he got back to D.C.

“I don’t care who you are, you’re not sitting in on my classes. You may wait outside that door during practice.” She said after she was apparently done sizing him up. She didn’t look very impressed, and Steve wasn’t the slightest bit insulted by that. It stung a bit and he couldn’t help the momentary flashback to high school when that one girl he was supposed to go on a date with had taken one look in him in the diner and turned on her heel and walked out.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that ma’am. My contract specifically states that I am to have eyes on Mr. Barnes at all times except for when he goes to the bathroom and during the night.” Steve apologized. He was genuinely sorry that his work would disturb her and the dancers, he always felt bad when his job interfered with the lives of people who wanted to have privacy and not be watched by a stranger simply because someone in their vicinity had a problem.

“Consider this a bathroom-break then.” The woman said coldly.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Jane, this comes from Pierce. You want to take it up with him?” Rumlow stepped in, his voice a bit too smug for Steve’s liking, and the fight seemed to leave her.

“You make as much as one noise and you’re out on your ass.” Jane declared and while Steve doubted she’d actually be able to kick him out of any room, he was certain that she’d give it her best shot. He nodded and extended his hand. She took it after a few seconds hesitation.

“Steve Rogers, ma’am.”

She nodded and then turned on her heal after giving Rumlow a nasty look.

“We had a thing for a while.” Rumlow explained when he saw what must have been a confused look on Steve’s face. “I slept with two of her dancers, she was pissed, it was a bloodbath.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Steve said.

“I like you Rogers. You’re fresh air.” Rumlow decided, clapping Steve on the back and then he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loud enough that a few of the dancers covered their ears with their hands in surprise. Steve barley suppressed a full-body jerk at the sound and felt his heart skip a beat. He’d been working with Dr. Coulson and he didn’t have nearly as many triggers now as he did when he first got back state-side, but sometimes his subconscious would fuck him up just for old times’ sake.

“Ey Jamie, get over here will you!” Rumlow said, almost shouted across the room. Steve was starting to think that this man only had the two settings – too loud or too silent. Steve watched as the man he had identified as James Barnes seemed to cringe at being called, before turning around to face Steve and Rumlow.

James Barnes was beautiful, there was no denying that even though Steve usually worked very hard not to notice things like that with about his assignments. The hair that framed in his face was damp from sweat and his arm was pure slim muscles as he raised it to his head to push his hair back. The man seemed to consider his options for a while before tapping a girl standing next to him on the shoulder. They exchanged a few words and the girl looked back at Steve and Rumlow (even though Steve got the impression that James had told her explicitly not to look at them, judging by the way the man’s back tensed up). Then the rest of the class headed out of the room as James made his way over to the back of the room.

“Well?” James said impatiently after a few moments of silence between the three of them. Steve had just assumed that the dancer and Rumlow knew each other and would strike up a conversation before Steve introduced himself. Apparently not.

“Hi. James? James Barnes? I’m Steve Rogers. It’s nice to meet you.” _James? James Barnes? Nice to meet you? Gees, Steve had lost any and all ability to talk to people it seemed._

“Hello Steve Rogers.” James said with a shrug, obviously confused as to who Steve was. That was kind of weird. Surely Pierce would have at least told Mr. Barnes Steve’s name.

“Your bodyguard…?” Steve explained hesitantly, feeling like now would be good time for Rumlow to say something. But he wasn’t surprised that the former soldier was smirking and enjoying their interaction and the awkwardness Steve was feeling in his bones. Great.

“Oh hell no.” The dancer protested and threw his hands up in the air, backing away from Steve and Rumlow. “Hell NO. Is this a joke?” He asked defensively, looking to Rumlow now.

“Do I look like have my joke-face on right now?” Rumlow asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest and sounding like he was utterly fed up with James and his drama.

“You always have you joke-face on.” James muttered between his teeth and Steve couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What did you say?” Rumlow asked, uncrossing his arms and taking a step toward the dancer.

“You heard me big guy.” James responded, his back curving slightly in the way that reminded Steve of a large cat about to jump at its prey. Only this prey was way more than James would be able to take on.

“Hey, hey.” Steve protested and but himself between the two men who were staring at each other violently. “Why don’t we all just take a breath?”

“Look man, I don’t need you to save me or whatever.” James said angrily, turning his rage to Steve now.

Rumlow stepped back just after a second, visibly relaxing as he started laughing. “Look, Pierce has more important things for me to do than follow you around all the time Jamie. You get a new best friend.”

James didn’t change a thing about his posture and he looked even more ready to jump at Rumlow, clearly not put off by having to go through Steve to get to him. Christ, Pierce had been right about the dancer being self-destructive and picking fight which would only end up hurting himself. Steve felt pretty certain that he could pick the dancer up with one arm and the same went for Rumlow.

“This was Pierce’s idea?” James said, not containing exactly how he felt about the man, practically spitting the name out. Steve couldn’t help but wonder what exactly had happened between Barnes and Mr. Pierce for James to dislike his boss this much. Especially since Mr. Pierce cared enough about James to hire someone to protect him. The services of SHIELD weren’t exactly free.

“Who else’s idea would it be, boy genius?” Rumlow sighed, looking mostly bored now.

James just kept staring at Rumlow, ignoring Steve all together now. The two men engaged in a staring-match and somehow Steve got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time they’d engaged in this kind of fighting.

“Look, it’s him or me pal.” Rumlow said after what Steve guessed was over a minute of staring during which neither man blinked. These two were going to be trouble. That threat seemed to at least get through to James and the man sighed and turned his back toward Steve and Rumlow, walking to the middle of the room.

“I’m going to practice till seven.” James said, making sure that Steve knew that that was the end of any conversation he thought they might have.

“I’ll leave you girls to it. Got places to be.” Rumlow said, barley containing the amusement in his voice and Steve offered him a wave as he went for the door.

This was going to be fun.

***

And hour and a half after Rumlow had left Steve and his charge alone in the dance-studio James suddenly stopped moving. Steve only noticed the absence of movement in the corner of his eye. He’d been playing a game on his phone, slashing fruit in pieces with a ninja-sword to give James as much space as he could. He figured staring at the man dancing would be considered creepy, and really he didn’t need any more visuals of exactly how gracefully the man moved his body. But before he could look up from his phone to check why Barnes had stopped dancing the man let out a frustrated scream which made Steve jump a bit in the chair he’d went back to sitting on.

“What” Steve started but James interrupted him.

“I can’t fucking concentrate, you’re distracting me!” James shouted, way more aggressively than strictly necessary considering the acoustics in the room and the fact that they were the only ones in it.

“I’m sorry?” Steve offered apologetically. He got another frustrated scream in response.

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

“I’m not a babysitter.”

“Sure you’re not.”

“I’m a bodyguard.”

“Why would I need a bodyguard?” The question took Steve by surprise. James didn’t know why he would need a bodyguard? He understood why Mr. Pierce was kept in the dark about Steve’s involvement with the authorities because they were leaks. But was this whole thing supposed to be a secret to James as well? How would that be practical for anyone?

James took his silence for confirmation.

“Babysitter.” He decided, and picked his bag up from the floor and swung it over his shoulder. “Whatever Pierce is paying you it’s not enough.”

Steve wasn’t sure how to answer that so he simply followed James out of the dance studio. The dancer pulled on thin sweatshirt over the tank top he’d been dancing in and then he held his gym-bag in front of Steve, obviously expecting Steve to carry it.

Steve battled with his deeply ingrained need to please the people around him and his dignity for a while before the latter won out. “I’m not your butler man.” He laughed and was surprised when James gave a laugh as well.

“Maybe Pierce is paying you too much.” James said as he walked them out of what seemed like the backdoor of the studio. It wasn’t the grand entrance Steve had entered through when he had met with Mr. Pierce that morning.

“I don’t have an ulterior motive Mr. Barnes, I’m just here to keep you safe.” Steve said before he could even realize that the words were technically not true. He felt a twitch of guilt but he couldn’t take his words back now.

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Steve found the finality of the words a bit odd, it wasn’t like he was going anywhere or about to end their conversation. But a second later James was straddling a beautiful motor-cycle and starting its engine. Steve had been too pre-occupied with Mr. Barnes to even notice the bike where it had been parked just outside the door. Great job observing and assessing potential threats in new spaces there Steve.

The bike was a slim, beautiful piece of machinery which Steve would properly appreciate once it wasn’t currently keeping him from doing his job. He couldn’t even get the words out to protest before James was speeding out the alley behind the studio.

Great.

As if to make matters worse the phone in his pocket started vibrating and when Steve dug it up the name Agent Carter flashed on the screen.

“Rogers.” He answered and started heading out of the alleyway.

 _“Steve. Can you talk?”_ Agent Carters voice was all business and had that the-security-of-the-international-community-is-depending-on-what-I’m-about-to-say-tone. Steve considered her question and his options for a few seconds.

“Yeah, sure, for now.” He said vaguely. And it wasn’t that much of a stretch – he had no idea where to look for Barnes and telling Agent Carter that he had lost his assignment within hours of meeting him for the first time wouldn’t really inspire her with confidence in his abilities.

_“Good. No one is following you?”_

“No.” Steve said confidently after having looked over both of his shoulders and scanning the street he stepped onto. “Should I be indoors taking to you?”

Agent Carter considered the alternative for a few seconds before answering. _“No, it might be better that you’re outside. Bugging a hotel room is easier than trailing you close enough to hear an entire conversation. Just choose your words carefully.”_

“Yes ma’am.”

_“Good, so you met Mr. Barnes and Mr. Pierce I assume?”_

“Yes. But Mr. Barnes had no idea that I had been hired for him. Does he know about…” Steve was about to say CIA and MI-5’s involvement, but he caught himself just before he could say the words out loud. Discretion was key. “your involvement?”

_“No, he doesn’t. And it is best that it stays that way for now.”_

“That would have been useful to know before I got here.” Steve couldn’t help but remark.

 _“Well our briefing was cut short when the two terrorists I’ve been hunting the last year showed up at my hotel yesterday.”_ Steve couldn’t tell if Agent Carter was joking or not.

“You said you had to take another call.”

_“Well, that call was my supervisor calling to tell me that the terrorists had been spotted outside my hotel so it was probably a good thing I took it, now wasn’t it?”_

Steve was completely taken by surprise by the turn of their conversation and Agent Carter’s matter-of-fact-tone when talking about being a phone-call away from being killed by terrorists.

 _“But that’s not important.”_ She said before Steve could come up with something appropriate to answer her with. _“What’s important now is James, and that you keep your real imperative secret for now. Mr. Barnes doesn’t exactly trust any government agencies right now and he was adamant about not wanting any official protection from the CIA.”_ She explained.

“And you think lying to him is going to make him trust you more?” Steve protested. He had known Mr. Barnes for about five minutes but he felt pretty confident that being lied to by a government agency he already didn’t trust wasn’t going to go over well with the dancer.

 _“I guess it is up to you to make sure that he doesn’t find out the truth then.”_ Agent Carter countered coldly. Then she sighed and Steve imagined her shaking her head as she paused. _“I’m sorry Steve. Look, I don’t think this is the best idea either and ideally I wouldn’t lie to an asset like this. But with Mr. Barnes we have no other choice, and technically speaking you’re not with the government.”_

“I don’t think that he is going to care about that technicality Agent Carter.” Steve certainly wouldn’t have.

 _“If there was another way we would be doing that instead.”_ And that was obviously the end of that discussion. Steve decided not to push it further for now. Agent Carter’s determination really got to him.

_“James was an… informant. He worked for the Russian branch of an organization called HYDRA. We don’t know much about them except they seem to be everywhere, they want to get their hands on nuclear materials and they are ten times as deadly and influential as any terrorist-organization you’ve heard off.”_

“Hang on, _was_ an informant? As in, he isn’t anymore?” Steve had to interrupt.

 _“I was getting there.”_ Was that an eye-roll Steve sensed on the other side of the phone-line _? “We had a pretty solid setup with him for two years in Russia. His intel was always good and he seemed genuine about wanting out of the organization. He didn’t believe any of their order-through-chaos-propaganda. But then his contact in our joint task force stopped checking in and Barnes was nowhere to be found. We’ve long since considered the agent to be dead and we thought that Mr. Barnes cover had been blown and feared that he was dead too. But then he showed up in New York City a year ago.”_

“So what, I’m not just a bodyguard, I’m a _spy_ too?”

 _“You say that like it is a dirty word.”_ Agent Carter sounded critical.

“I don’t like lying.” Steve shrugged at his own words.

_“If everyone had your morals we would have lost the wars.”_

“If everyone had my morals maybe we wouldn’t have any wars.” Steve muttered, not really interested in having a debate on this particular topic right now. He needed to be properly briefed and then find a way to locate Barnes.

 _“Touché.”_ Agent Carter laughed a little at the other line. _“But no, you’re not a spy. We’ve got that side of things handled, you are just the muscle. We can’t exactly use proper protocol when it concerns HYDRA.”_

“Because HYDRA might have infiltrated the CIA and MI?”

_“And probably the FBI, US Congress, British parliament, Apple INC and several other prized institutions here and in Europe and Asia.”_

“Uh, yeah.” Steve was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that a criminal organization like that existed without people knowing about it. He didn’t doubt Agent Carter, or his boss director Fury for that matter who seemed convinced. It was just pretty hard to swallow, especially since he was now in the middle of it.

_“Look, we don’t even know if we can still trust Barnes, if he is on our side or if he has managed to shake HYDRA. All we do know is that his life is in danger every day HYDRA is still active and he has valuable information that could be just the thing we need to take them down. Our other operatives are taking care of the spying, all you need to do is make sure Barnes doesn’t get killed.”_

“Until you get the information you need out of him?” Steve accused. He couldn’t help himself. Sure James had been nothing but rude to Steve the entire afternoon but Steve still cared about what happened when Agent Carter had gotten what she wanted from her informant. What was going to happen to Barnes when the CIA was done with him?

 _“Steve”_ Agent Carter sighed and Steve could tell that they were possibly about to get into another heavy discussion about the necessity of casualties in war, so he decided to drop the subject for now.

“You say you have other operatives in the field?” He asked to change the subject.

_“Yes.”_

“Well?” Steve enquired. “It would be helpful to know who that is.”

_“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that Steve.”_

“What if there is a misunderstanding or something? Someone could get hurt.” Steve pressed. He really didn’t want to risk shooting at a deep-cover agent or something.

Agent Carter laughed. _“Trust me when I say you wouldn’t be able to hurt this agent if you tried. Good bye Steve.”_

The call went silent and Steve was left staring at his phone, wondering who this mysterious agent was and feeling none the wiser after the briefing. There was no doubt in Steve’s mind that Agent Carter wasn’t telling him everything and it frustrated him. Usually his job entailed being privy to every single thing his assignments had ever done, the deeper their skeletons were buried the more important it was that he see it. SHIELD had excellent private detectives who could dig up potential safety-threats on any potential costumer and were known for being discreet. This was the opposite of that.


	3. The Field-trip

“Bitch gave you the slip, huh?”

That was the fifth time in two hours Rumlow had mocked Steve about losing Barnes and Steve didn’t even bother replying at this point. He might actually deserve being taunted because he had definitely fucked up.

The two of them stopped in front of a pretty anonymous apartment door on the sixth floor of an equally anonymous apartment building and Steve raised his hand to knock firmly on the door since he didn’t see any doorbell. Trying to ignore the smirk he could practically feel radiating from Rumlow.

Soon after Steve’s call with Agent Carter had ended he realized that he had Rumlow’s number programmed into his phone since his meeting with Mr. Pierce, and he had swallowed his pride and called for backup. Hoping that Rumlow would know where James would want to go after ditching his babysitter.

Rumlow had laughed continuously for the first hour and based off of what he knew about the man, Steve counted that as mercy. Rumlow had pulled up by the curb to pick Steve up in a sleek black Audi and taken them to a ruff looking neighborhood. If Steve had been anything but an ex-military man carrying at least two deadly weapons, if you didn’t count his hands, he would have been seriously worried about flashing a car like that around. As it was he had simply adjusted his holster and followed Rumlow into a beaten up bar.

The bartender had been leaning over the bar with a cigarette between his lips, staring at a TV showing reruns of the Wire and when he recognized Rumlow he’d just shook head and Rumlow had turned around on his heal, almost walking into Steve.

“Not here, next place on the list.” Rumlow grumbled and walked out of the bar with Steve trailing him again. As they walked around the block Steve made sure to memorize the street since it seemed that the bar was one of Mr. Barnes’ usual hideouts. At least he was there often enough that the bartender knew both him and Rumlow.

They didn’t walk far before Rumlow stopped, this time in front of a door with a metal gate in front of in. Steve would have walked right by it and mistaken it for a residential building if Rumlow hadn’t been there. The other bodyguard reached between the metal bars and knocked on the door. They had to wait a minute before the door and the gate were opened by someone who also obviously knew Rumlow.

“Is he here?” Rumlow had asked the bulky man who was basically blocking the path into the building with his body as effectively as the door and the gate had.

“He was, might have gone out back the though.”

Rumlow swore and the guy (the bouncer?) threw his hands up like hey man, don’t look at me. They pushed past him and into a hallway which lead them to what was undeniably an underground poker-club. Steve was beyond surprised and the number of people who had the time in their day to be there playing poker right now just added to the surprise.

He scanned the room on instinct, looking for James long brown hair and slim figure, but came up empty just like Rumlow. Just when Steve was about to ask what their next move was a woman wearing leather pants and showing off enough cleavage that there was basically no point in her wearing a shirt at all, approached them.

“He just lost a game. Went upstairs, 604.” The girl told Rumlow and took the twenty-dollar-bill he handed her.

“I’ll be sure to tell Pierce to leave you with some cash to cover additional expenses.” Rumlow said with a sarcastic smile and walked through the packed room to a backdoor. They ended up on the foot of a stairwell on the other side of the door. “Hope you wore your climbing boots Rogers.” Rumlow said as he started up the stairs.

Steve huffed a laugh. Rumlow reminded him of the guys from the army when he wasn’t being a complete asshole and the thought of knowing one person on this assignment who actually wanted him to hang around was nice. “Bet you I can reach sixth before you do.” Steve said, testing the waters with Rumlow.

“Hah!” The man exclaimed and started taking two steps at a time.

The two raced up the six floors and their feet touched the last step in such synchronization that they couldn’t determine who had won. Although Steve would totally have won if Rumlow hadn’t decided to play dirty around the fourth floor and trip Steve when he had the lead.

Now they were waiting outside apartment 604.

“Fuck this.” Rumlow exclaimed after a few seconds of no one answering the door. He stepped back as far as the corridor would allow him and barged forward, kicking the door in with a well-placed foot.

Steve didn’t really have time to be chocked or outraged at the unnecessary damage to private property as he stepped around the door to follow Rumlow inside though. What he saw was way more shocking and he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his skull he stared so hard at the scene just beyond the door.

The apartment was small, and Steve and Rumlow had stepped right into the living room. The only couch angled to give the two bodyguards the perfect view of James as he glanced up at the commotion, rolled his eyes and decided not to care about the audience as he snorted a line of something which definitely wasn’t sugar from the thigh of the man below him. The second he was done he leaned forward, licking the underside of the cock belonging to the unknown man in a filthy, deliberate motion clearly done to tease the uninvited company and then swallowed down the man’s length in one practiced motion.

Steve couldn’t think, frozen in his spot and he was glad that his uniform had a pretty high neck and not a lower cut, because he was certain that the flush he felt on his cheeks spread down to his chest as well. He watched as James hollowed his cheeks on the upstroke, the dancer’s blue eyes shifting between Steve and Rumlow. Steve had never seen anything as erotic in his life before, the scene in front of him more pornographic than any X-rated movies Steve had ever come across.

The man beneath James on the couch tried to turn his head, and seemed way more agitated than James did at the intrusion of the apartment. But he obviously wasn’t concerned enough to pry away from the mouth on his cock. Steve couldn’t blame him.

“Alright, that’s enough of a show faggots.” Rumlow’s voice came as a chock to Steve and made him jerk his eyes away from the scene on the couch. He shouldn’t be staring like that. Rumlow moved over to the couch the second after speaking, not waiting for the other men to comply and buried his fingers in James hair before yanking on it way harder than necessary. James entire body was wrenched backward and the man on the couch yelped in pain as the dancer’s teeth must have caught on his dick. Rumlow used the grip he still had on James hair to make him stand up and gave him a hard push toward Steve and the door.

“Hey!” The man on the couch rose to protest, seemingly forgetting that he was naked. Any protest he was about to make about the interruption was cut off when Rumlow stepped into his space though. Clad in all black, gun clearly visible in his belt and murderous look on his face, Steve couldn’t blame the guy when he took a step back in fear and almost fell over as the couch hit the back of his knees.

“Next time you want to stick your dick in something you should probably make sure that it doesn’t belong to Alexander Pierce.” Rumlow said and the man’s eyes went even wider and he opened his mouth and a desperate jumble of words trying to convey how sorry he was came out. “I assume whatever Mr. Barnes lost to you has been repaid in full?” Rumlow interrupted.

“What? Oh, yes. Of course.” The man seemed a bit reluctant at the admission but he was probably wise not to argue. Rumlow turned from the man without another word and started to head for Steve and James before glancing around the room and finding a wallet on the table next to the couch. He picked it up and flipped through it, pocketed the surprisingly large amount of cash he found and turned to the man again. “For Mr. Pierce’s troubles.” He said.

Steve had to remind himself again that this wasn’t any other assignment. Had it been, he wouldn’t have let Rumlow get away with half of his bullying and he’d personally offered to replace the man’s broken door. But Agent Carter needed him where he was, and he felt pretty certain that Rumlow held enough sway with Mr. Pierce to be able to persuade the man to hire someone else if Steve tried to pick a fight with him. Still, he ground his teeth together and clenched his fists as Rumlow led the way out of the apartment.

On the way out Steve picked up the gym-bag and the sweatshirt James had brought with him from the dance-studio from the floor of the apartment and gave the shirt to James as he pulled the bag over his own shoulder. The dancer wasn’t wearing anything more than the pants he’d been wearing during practice and they had a few blocks of walking to get back to Rumlow’s car.

“My heroes.” James said, voice dripping with sarcasm even as he accepted the sweatshirt from Steve and pulled it on.

“Pierce is going to love this Jamie.” Rumlow said, ignoring the comment. Walking behind James down the stairs Steve couldn’t help but notice the way the dancers shoulder tensed up at the mention of Pierce.

“Could we maybe not tell Mr. Pierce about this?” Steve heard the words come out of his own mouth before he could even make the decision to say them.

Rumlow stopped and turned toward him, looking over James shoulder with a raised eyebrow, demanding an explanation.

“It’s just that this isn’t a very good first impression. I wouldn’t blame Mr. Pierce for firing me if he heard about this and I kinda don’t want to lose my job.” Steve said and as far as made-up-on-the-spot-excuses went he felt pretty comfortable about that one.

“You’re pretty and all Steve, but I won’t lie for you.” Rumlow said, clearly conveying that he saw right through Steve’s bullshit excuse and realized that he was only trying to help Barnes out. Steve opened his mouth to protest, maybe even beg a little, but Rumlow surprised him when he cut him off. “But if the boss doesn’t ask I won’t tell him about this fieldtrip.”

“Thanks Rumlow.” Steve said, relieved. Because even if he had acted on impulse to help James there was that added risk of losing his job and putting an entire international investigation in jeopardy.

“Since we’re keeping secrets now Rogers, you can call be Brock.” Rumlow said with a wink that confused Steve with its suggestiveness, considering the words the man had been throwing around earlier in the apartment. But Steve didn’t have time to be confused for long, before James started making exaggerated gagging noises, earning him a hard shove from Brock which forced the dancer to grab the railing so he wouldn’t trip. Steve reached out to steady James, but was instantly pushed away.

“Don’t!” James hissed at him and pausing as if he wanted to elaborate on that but thought better of it and caught himself. “I can take care of my goddamn self.” He added, but Steve was pretty sure that there was an unsaid _don’t touch me_ in the way the dancer had reacted. He made a mental note of that and waited for James to follow Rumlow down the stairs.

***

Operation get-Barnes-home-safely was not without its struggles. There were two vehicles between the three of them, Rumlow’s car and James bike and Steve and Rumlow could at least agree that James wasn’t going to operate either of them. And since Steve firmly refused to leave Barnes out of his sight again that day the only solution was to have Rumlow take James bike and for Steve to drive himself and James in the car.

James didn’t agree though, and the let every adjacent block know it, screaming and lashing out violently at Rumlow as the man put his hands on the bike. Steve had to hold the dancer back from engaging in an actual fistfight with Brock and he was surprised by how strong James was. His light frame and slim built made it easy to assume that he was a light weight, but apparently dancing was a better workout than Steve ever would have guessed. The mix of amusement and boredom on Brock’s face told Steve that this kind of reaction from Barnes when the dancer was being told no was to be expected.

Only after James had caught Steve off guard and managed to almost get a punch in at Rumlow did the third man actually step in to help Steve, but by then Steve wished that Brock had stayed out of it. The other bodyguard seemed to grow five inches in height, towering over Barnes and even Steve, despite the fact that Steve was actually the taller of the two. Rumlow’s eyes were black as he grabbed James shoulders, shaking him in Steve’s grip and, much to Steve’s surprise and horror, slapping James across the face.

“Don’t Rogers.” Brock said immediately, interrupting whatever protest Steve was about to voice loudly. “I’ve got years of dealing with his crap and no patience to watch you learn on the job. Get over yourself and man up the fuck up.” Steve was still going to protest, he really was, to hell with his job-security, but then Rumlow’s last words hit a nerve. They were almost identical to what Sharon used to shout at him those last weeks and he had to refocus all of his energy on not having a panic attack right then and there.

Breathe.

Breathe Steve.

You’re on the job, you can’t fall apart like this man.

He was back in the grocery-store, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to control his breathing and telling himself that the explosion of noise hadn’t been hostile fire. A girl had tripped over one of the shelves in the jam-section trying to climb it. Sharon was standing over him, screaming at him for embarrassing her like that, telling him to man the fuck up and stop acting like a child. He knew he was being ridiculous, there were no hostiles and they were obviously home in the US, not in some war-torn desert. But he just couldn’t breathe.

Breathe Steve.

“…or so help me god James, I’m calling Pierce to come up here and pick you up himself.” Steve tuned in to the world around him again just as Brock finished whatever threat he was making to Barnes, feeling pretty confident that he could keep it together long enough to not screw the whole assignment up. James looked terrified as Brock fished out a phone from his pocket, like a cornered animal who knew that death was imminent but getting ready to make its last stand anyway. Steve was just starting to worry about exactly how ugly the situation was going to get when James crumbled.

“I’ll go.” He said, voice barely audible.

“Oh I’m sorry, what was that?” Rumlow asked, not able to contain the smirk spreading across his face. Or maybe he didn’t want to hide it. But that was the end of Steve’s patience. Barnes was clearly desperate to not involve Mr. Pierce and now Rumlow wanted the man to beg. Steve couldn’t stand bullies like that.

“That’s enough Brock.” He said firmly and stepped in between Rumlow and Barnes, practically blocking them from each other’s sights. “James, let’s get in the car.” His voice left no room for argument. He had been a captain for god’s sake, one of the youngest people in the US military history to receive the title and he had led men into warzones. He wasn’t a wreck and he wasn’t a pushover. He could handle two civilian coworkers.

“You ask me if I’m okay I’m jumping out of this car while it’s movin', I swear.” James said as he got into the backseat, refusing to sit up front with Steve, and effectively cutting of the question that Steve had been about to answer. And then began the silent treatment. Barnes refused to give Steve directions to his home, so Steve drove in the general direction of the dance studio, just to have a direction to go in, and Steve cursed the fact that he hadn’t had the time to properly prepare for this assignment. Protocol existed for a reason dammit.

Once they were back in more familiar areas of the city, getting close to the dance studio, Steve tried to get directions to James home. He might as well have been talking to himself because the dancer kept looking out the window like he couldn’t hear a thing Steve said. And then, when he finally decided to direct Steve to an address they ended up outside a motel which Steve was sure had bedbugs in it, just by the look of the outside.

“Very funny.” He said, sighing exasperated. Those three months he spent being the bodyguard for a diplomat’s sixteen year old daughter had been less frustrating than his first day with James Barnes.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. This is a grade-A establishment.” James said from the backseat, clearly amused with himself. “I speak from experience.”

Steve didn’t even want to begin imagine what kind of experiences James might have at a place like this, but the neon sign flashing the motel’s hourly rate made it kind of hard not to. He ran his hand over his face, racking his brain to come up with a way to get the address to James place without the man having to tell him himself. No home-address had been included in the file he had received from Agent Carter, and it wasn’t like he could call the woman. Steve had never been a good liar and if she had started asking questions he might end up having to tell her all about his afternoon. And he really wanted to avoid that. The same went for Director Fury back at SHIELD, the man might personally come to New York City and kick Steve’s ass if he knew how badly his employee had screwed up. Google had offered up no useful information. He’d even tried Bing in his desperation a few blocks back.

That only left him with one option – calling Rumlow and ask for his help a second time that day. And he would rather walk over burning coal than owe that man another favor. And he had the feeling that luck was the only reason for why neither one of the three men were bleeding from their last encounter.

He was just about to dial the man’s number anyway though, when he realized that there might be another solution. He hesitated briefly before putting down his phone and turning around in his seat to look at James.

“Look, if you don’t give me an address I’ll have to ask Mr. Pierce for it.” He said, watching James reaction closely. Steve immediately felt guilty at invoking the name of their mutual boss as James body snapped into a tense position, his head jerking to look at Steve. Having those eyes trained on him with an unexpected intensity made Steve want to squirm and go back on his threat, empty as it may have been. There was no way a dancer should be able to produce a stare like that. It was deadly and seemed to peel of all of Steve’s layers until his soul was on display.

Steve had to remind himself to breathe again. The look reminded him of hearing the screams of his fellow soldiers, blinding pain and an interrogator somewhere in a bunker in the desert.

Breathe Steve.

Breathe.

He barley registered the words as Barnes reluctantly rattled off his address.

“No, I said turn _left_.” James sighed as Steve turned the car right after exiting the motel parking lot, and Steve was way too relieved that the dancer had believed that he would make due on his threat and call Mr. Pierce to be hurt by the tone the dancer used while he launched into directions a second time as if Steve was slow. He wasn’t as smug as Rumlow had been about it, but it was nice to know that Steve had at least one effective way to keep Barnes in check. If James believed that Steve would resort to telling on him to their boss things would probably go a lot smoother from now. The dancer didn’t need to know that Steve was a bleeding heart (Sam who was an educated therapist had given him the diagnose after spending about five minutes with him, so it was probably scientifically accurate), and that he wouldn’t actually call the man when just the thought of doing so upset James this much.

***

“Wait in the car.” Steve said as he killed the engine and got out when they arrived outside the townhouse James had directed them to. He rolled his eyes to himself when he heard the dancer getting out of the car only a second later. Steve hadn’t thought much about it when Pierce had said that James disobeyed orders in principle but now he understood what that meant.

Doing his job on this assignment was obviously going to be difficult.

“Mr. Barnes, it’s my job to look out for you.” Steve tried, but he didn’t put his heart into trying to argue with the man. He’d save that for tomorrow, but he felt that he at least had to try and get his point across.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Steve couldn’t help but think that maybe a babysitter was in fact exactly what the dancer needed.

“Well, I’m here whether you want me to be or not, so you might as well let me do my job and maybe live a little longer for it.” He said, walking around the car and up to the curb where the driver from that morning stood, seemingly waiting for them to show up.

“Mr. Rollins.” Steve greeted the man with a nod. The man nodded back and then gestured behind him to show him that he had brought Steve’s luggage from that morning with him. He proceeded to dig through the pockets of his suit for a few seconds before producing a key which he handed to Steve with the same blank expression on his face the entire time.

Steve accepted the key, shifting the weight from one foot to another trying to figure out what the hell it meant that Rollins was still holding his hand out before realizing that the man probably wanted the keys to Rumlow’s car. Once he had the keys in his hand Rollins got into the car and drove away from the curb in less than thirty seconds.

“Rollins doesn’t speak.” James said. He must have caught the confused expression on Steve’s face. He was really sucking at the whole being-a-professional-thing today. “Got his tongue cut out by the Russian mob.”

“Really?” Steve couldn’t help himself.

“Nah.” James said as he got up to the front door. “They were way worse than the mob.”

Steve blinked a few times at that before collecting himself and grabbing his luggage from the side of the curb and following James through the front door and up the stairs inside. Did James mean HYDRA? Was Mr. Pierce's driver a part of the criminal organisation Agent Carter and Phillips were after? And if James knew that, why was he still around, when Agent Carter seemed to think that any HYDRA operatives posed a threat to Barnes's safety? If HYDRA had cut out the man's tongue, were he and James on the run from them together?

“Make yourself at home.” Barnes said sarcastically as he opened and stepped through the door on the top floor. He threw his gym bag on the floor and toed of his shoes with no thought to put them against the wall or in a closet. Steve followed, placing his own things neatly in a corner.

“Guess you being here explains why Pierce put me up in this giant place with three bedrooms and two baths. I just figured he didn’t want me living close to my friends anymore.” James voice came from what turned out to be the kitchen when Steve followed it. The dancer was drinking a glass of water, leaning back against the sink and running a hand through his hair. Steve tried to deconstruct the information he’d just gotten but he was seriously confused. If Mr. Pierce truly did pay for James to live in a place like this, how could the dancer hate his boss as much as he seemed to? And if James really hated him why would he accept a flat from him, especially if he thought that he was being manipulated into staying away from his friends? Admittedly, Steve had no idea what kind of income a ballerina had, but what with all the praise people were giving Barnes it seemed like he should be able to afford a roof over his head.

“Gust bedroom’s that way. Maid comes Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Groceries at Thursdays. I get up for practice at 6.30 Monday through Saturday. My neighbors are assholes so feel free to stomp your feet. Don’t touch my stuff, I’m going to bed.” James said, once he’d finished his water and started to leave the kitchen.

“You’re not going to have dinner?” Steve asked before he could reconsider his choice of words. He was supposed to be the bodyguard, and prove to James that he was in fact not a babysitter.

“No. And you already ruined my high, don’t you dare ruin my beauty sleep.” A loud bang echoed through the apartment as James slammed the door to his bedroom, leaving Steve standing in the middle of the kitchen.


	4. The Motorcycle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling a bit uninspired, don't judge this chapter too harshly!

The numbers on Steve’s way too brightly light phone read 02.14 when he checked it for probably the hundred time that night. He’d managed to get a few hours of sleep when he’d first settled into the guestroom in James apartment. Exhausted from the day he’d had he had practically fallen asleep the second his head hit the ridiculously soft pillow. But then he’d woken up just before midnight, his pulse racing and images of war flashing in his mind on such a high speed it made him nauseas. He put the phone down again and sighed to himself as he moved to sit up on the bed. He’d had enough of these nights to know that he wasn’t going to get much more sleep, and if he just stayed in bed his subconscious would work itself up into a panic-attack. Downtime where he was alone with his own mind was always the worst, especially after a stressful day.

He pulled on a loose fitting t-shirt and the only pair of sweatpants he’d packed and left the bedroom. If he’d been in his own apartment in D.C he’d be taking a shower by now, the hot water usually made him feel slightly better and more relaxed. But he didn’t want to give Barnes another reason to dislike him by waking him up in the middle of the night by running the water. Steve still felt guilty over the fact that he had invoked Mr. Pierce to threaten James the day before. The way the dancer’s entire body tensed up at the mere mention of the name Pierce was enough to tell Steve that that had been a low blow, even if he didn’t know their history.

The light streaming out from the kitchen made Steve frown as he made his way through the apartment to the source of light. He was pretty sure he’d turned the light off before going to bed.

He stopped in the doorway once he got there, and while this wasn’t quite as an erotic scene as the last time he’d walked in on Barnes it was just as unexpected. The dancer was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen island, headset attached to the phone next to him on the counter, his head swaying in rhythm with whatever music he was listening to. He was wearing pair of sweats but no shirt or socks and his hair was hanging loose, framing his face as he chewed on a slice of pizza. Steve had ordered the pizza from one of the menus he’d found while going through the kitchen for dinner-supplies earlier. The take-out-menus were the only thing he’d found besides eggs and premade shakes and juices in various colors and protein-bars, and he’d been way to beat to go grocery-shopping.

James didn’t seem to have noticed Steve in the doorway and he considered returning to his bedroom before he could. On the other hand he knew that he would be stuck with his thoughts until dawn if he did and besides, there was no time like the present to apologize and try getting on the dancer’s good side. By the appreciative moan James made around his pizza Steve figured that the odds were in his favor actually. And then James reached for another slice of the left-over pizza and noticed Steve in the corner of his eye, so retreating unnoticed wasn’t really an option anymore.

Emotions flickered over the dancer’s expression so fast that Steve didn’t have time to decipher them all, but it settled on what Steve figured was something like slightly annoyed tolerance and he’d kind of been expecting something worse. He nodded to James and leaned back against the doorway, a bit unsure of what to do with himself as the other man took a bite of his pizza, looking at him but not taking his headset out or initiating a conversation. Staring seemed to be something the dancer had a habit of doing, and it made Steve want to squirm, run away, or put on a jacket or something equally ridiculous. Sharon’s voice snapping at him popped up in the back of his mind, uninvited as always. _I’m not going out in public with you if you’re going to wear a t-shirt, it’s rude to force people to look at that much of you._

“People who hover in doorways are coming from nowhere and are heading nowhere.” James voice cut through the silence between them and made Steve’s eyes snap up to meet his.

“What?” Steve asked, not quite understanding what James was trying to get at.

“Not a Grey’s Anatomy fan, huh?” James asked between two bites of pizza.

Steve didn’t even know it that was a movie, book or TV-series and shrugged apologetically.

“You’re not getting any more of the pizza.” James said after a few more seconds of silence between them with such determination that it made Steve laugh a little.

“I’m not hungry.” He said.

“Good.” James declared and folded up the rest of his slice before putting it in his mouth, licking a string of cheese off of his finger in the process. Steve looked away quickly before he could be reminded with a mental image from his not very helpful brain of what else he’d seen the dancer lick that day.

He poured himself a glass of water, just to have something to busy himself with while James chewed his pizza.

“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday.” Steve started, once James was done eating, had removed his earplugs and didn’t make a move to start up another round of small talk.

There was a mixture of suspicion and confusion on the dancer’s face that made Steve a bit uneasy for James’s sake. Suspicion really shouldn’t be a person’s go-to-response when faced with an apology.

“I was being an ass. For threatening to call Mr. Pierce on you.” Steve saw James try to hide his body’s response to that name again, but he couldn’t quite stop his shoulders from tensing up. “And for letting Brock treat you that way, that wasn’t very professional.” The way James huffed at that made Steve pause.

“I can handle Rumlow.” James said and Steve caught himself before he could argue that it didn’t quite look like that yesterday. But something in his expression must have given his thoughts away anyway because James raised a challenging eyebrow. “Maybe I like it when he gets rough.”

Steve was definitely not going to address that last part, especially when was apologizing for not being professional. There were about four chapters in the SHIELD-manual dedicated to just how much of a bad idea it was to flirt with your assignment. Even though (or maybe especially when) said assignment looked like they’d just walked off the page of a fashion-magazine.

“I get the feeling you’re not all too happy about this arrangement,” Steve pretended not to notice that James rolled his eyes at that. “But I’m really just here to keep you safe, not to report back to your boss or keep you from living your life. I promise things will go a lot smoother if you work with me.” Steve purposefully avoided mentioning Mr. Pierce by name, seeing as he wanted to get on the dancer’s good side.

“Still don’t know why I would need a bodyguard.” James said, not addressing Steve’s apology but not spitting in his face either so he figured he’d count that one as a win for now.

 _You were in deep with an influential international criminal organization and then got caught leaking information to the CIA._ “Brock said something about a broken nose and a delusional stalker during last year’s opening night.” Steve offered with a shrug.

“Rumlow is a fucking asshole.” James said, louder necessary. “Pietro wasn’t gonna hurt anyone. Well, no one who didn’t deserve it anyway. They had him deported back to Russia just for trying to talk to Wanda! And now he’s probably doing their dirty work just to afford a roof over his head! They wouldn’t even let them see each other, and Wanda almost killed herself when she wasn’t allowed to see him.”

And just, wow. Steve didn’t really have anything for that. He didn’t have to though, because James wasn’t done.

“So please don’t talk to me about how heroic Rumlow is. You don’t know shit.”

 _A flair for the dramatics. Pathological liar. Vivid imagination._ The words from the morning before made themselves reminded in the voice of Alexander Pierce as Steve took in James story. The idea of a dance-company being responsible of what James accused them of seemed a like a bit of a stretch.

“Wow.” Steve said carefully.

“Oh you don’t believe me huh?” James said, his tone level as if he tried to convey that that didn’t bother him, although clearly it did. He jumped of the kitchen counter in a fluid motion, bending his knees in the landing and turning away from Steve to throw the empty pizza carton in the sink.

“I like to believe that people are innocent until proven guilty.” Steve answered.

“How patriotic of you.” James snapped as he turned back to Steve and snatched his phone and headset from the counter.

Steve shrugged at that and left the kitchen as James turned his full attention to his phone. He sat down on the couch and turned on the TV, figuring that the sound wouldn’t bother the dancer since it didn’t seem like he was going back to bed any time soon.

He was watching a rerun of some criminal-drama, the second episode in a row just starting when James joined him. The dancer sat down on the opposite side of the couch, obviously putting as much space between the two of them as he could, and put his phone down next to him to watch the TV. Steve felt a bit awkward about the unresolved almost-argument or whatever it was that had transpired in the kitchen but he didn’t try to start up another conversation with the dancer.

The tension between the two of them eased up a bit when James scoffed at the TV during opening murder-scene. “Oh come on, there’s like twenty better ways to kill your boss than that.” He commented.

“I bet you know all of them, huh?” Steve quipped before he realized that that might not have been the best thing to say considering the rocky relationship with Mr. Pierce and James.

A smile played at James lips as the dancer turned his face to look at Steve. “Yep.” He answered, popping the P and looking deadly serious even though he was smiling.

Steve had to get to the bottom of this and find out the backstory to James and Mr. Pierce.

“So how’d you do it?” Steve asked to carry the conversation.

“What, kill Pierce or this schmuck?” James gestured at the TV at the end, where the murdered boss now laid in a pool of his own blood.

“Both? Neither?” Steve laughed a little nervously, the term accomplice to murder flashing across his mind as he watched the expression on James face, still completely serious.

“Come on Steve, if I told you that I’d have to kill you to.” James said, smiling brightly at him for the first time since they’d met.

***

Steve had been sitting in the back since the class had started, trying not to take it personal when Jane Foster had glared at him as he followed James inside the classroom and taken great care to not to anything to disrupt the class. All of his nightmares would forever feature the piano music the dancers practiced to on a loop, but at least he didn’t have Rumlow next to him, making lewd comments too loudly to even attempt being discrete. On the other hand he kind of wouldn’t have minded Rumlow’s company. Steve was used to working in teams, or do a lot more travelling to and from meetings and things like that while on the job. Sitting in dance glass was under-stimulating to say the least.

When lunch time came around he was looking forward to stretching his legs and getting some fresh air, but as it turned out the dancers didn’t do lunch. The clock ticked past the usual business-hours for lunch as the group rehearsed a particular scene they never seemed to get quite right. Steve had watched the dancers closely, trying to pass the time and stimulating his mind by figuring out why Jane Foster wasn’t happy with their performance. He couldn’t notice anything though, even as he felt he was going to become dizzy just watching them all do the same moves over and over again. He thought that it came down to one girl though. Her auburn hair was pulled back so tightly in a bun that Steve wondered if it would give her a migraine, and skinny enough that a breeze could probably knock her over on the street. She had started out with a determined expression on her face as she took the front and center of the room, her choreography suddenly different from the rest of the dancers. They were going on an hour of practicing the same part when Steve noticed that her eyes were tearing up as she turned around and got back into place when Jane told them all to take it from the top again.

The next time the piano-music stopped at Jane’s request that they do the scene _again_ Steve watched as James stepped off his position on the floor and shook his head at Jane. The woman looked like she wanted to protest, but then another dancer said a few words in a language Steve didn’t recognize, but Jane must have understood because she dismissed the class with a hand motion and abruptly left the room along with the pianist.

Steve got on his feet quickly and followed James as the dancer pulled a sweater from him gym-bag and headed toward the back exit they’d used the day before. Once outside, Steve had figured that they were headed to a grab-and-go place for lunch, but James simply leaned back against the wall next to the door and started fishing through his pockets for something.

“Here you go James.” A voice said which made the dancer’s eyes snap toward the door where two women were exiting, one of them holding a pack of cigarettes in her hands. Steve recognized her as the girl who had just taken James side and convinced Jane to let the class out, and the girl following her was the same one who’d been struggling with her solo-performance.

James face brightened like Christmas had come early as he took the cigarettes from the red-head and had one of them light between his lips so fast Steve didn’t even have the time to follow his movements. The dancer closed his eyes in bliss as he took the first drag from the cigarette and Steve couldn’t help frowning as he exhaled the smoke. It was stated clearly in Steve’s personnel file that he preferred clients who didn’t smoke. Thank you so much for being considerate and all, Director Fury.

“I know, it’s a disgusting habit.” The redhead said as she must have caught the look on Steve’s face. Steve raised an eyebrow at that, seeing that it was she who had provided James with the cigarettes in the first place.

“James is always losing his, and trust me when I say he isn’t a joy to be around on a good day, but its way worse when he doesn’t get his poison.” The redhead explained with a shrug and smiled brilliantly at James when he glared at her for the comment.

“What? It’s true!” She said, defending her statement and earning an eye-roll from James who seemed to decide that he was above arguing with her.

“I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.” Steve quickly introduced himself when he realized that he was being rude for not doing that the second the women joined them.

“Natasha Romanoff.” The redhead said at shook his hand with a steadier grip than Steve had anticipated.

“Wanda.” The other girl offered. She hesitated taking his hand a few seconds, but when she did she offered him a shy smile as if she was apologizing for hesitating. Steve managed to control his expression when he recognized the name from the talk he had James had that morning. She was the girl whose brother had gotten into fight with Brock and allegedly tried to kill herself because said brother had been deported.

Natasha proceeded to pull out a few protein-bars from the bad slung over her shoulder and started handing them out, even offering one to Steve.

“This is lunch. You better pack own tomorrow though, cause I’m not running a charity here.” She said when Steve didn’t accept it immediately.

“Thanks.” He said as he accepted it, half because he was hungry and half because he didn’t dare do anything else. Despite being considerably shorter and lighter than even James the woman radiated determination and Steve wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was intimidating.

Then he watched as Natasha managed to keep a staring match with both Wanda and James at the same time, somehow. Neither were quick to grab the offered food until Natasha had glared at them for almost a full minute. Steve was pretty impressed at the other two dancers held out for that long – he certainly hadn’t.

“I’m not scared of you, you know.” James argued even as he unwrapped the protein-bar.

“Sure you’re not.” Natasha said, clearly not even the slightest convinced. Then she turned to Wanda and glared at the girl until she took a bite of her bar and Steve didn’t catch her blinking once.

James stuck his tongue out at Natasha and then protested loudly as she snatched back the pack of cigarettes as revenge.

“Steve, help me out here!” James pleaded once the two of them had danced around each other for a while, Natasha always three steps ahead of James even though the man had some pretty impressive moves which made Steve think of a few lesser known versions of martial arts practiced only in Asia.

“I don’t see how this falls within my job-description.” Steve smiled, leaning back to the wall and starting in on his lunch.

“Come on Steve, at least help him make it a fair fight.” Natasha said as she blocked James attempt at reaching behind her to pull her hair and then whipped around to catch his arm behind his back when he tried to trick her to let her guard down.

Steve laughed and put his hands up, no way he was going to hit a girl, even if she was as impressive as Natasha Romanoff. “I’d like to keep all of my body parts intact, thank you.” He said.

“Smart man.” Natasha said in a serious voice at the same time as James expelled a loud “Coward!” Steve laughed and in the corner of his eye he saw Wanda’s lips curl into a smile and some of the tension disappear from her shoulders. He managed not to flinch at being called a coward and caught himself before he could get stuck in a loop hearing Sharon call him that on repeat, and he was pretty proud of himself for that. 

“Nat, let go of my arm will you, before you cut off the circulation.” James said a few seconds later when Natasha still hadn’t released him from her grip.

“Oh no, I’m not done with you yet Barnes.” She said, adjusting her grip and making James arc his back a bit and Steve started to wonder if he maybe this was fringing on that job-description. “Don’t think I don’t know what you were up to yesterday.”

“Spying bitch.” James didn’t even try to pretend like he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Oh please.” Natasha replied, clearly not insulted.

“I needed to blow off some steam alright?” James seemed exasperated as he tried to get out of Natasha’s grip. Steve decided to give her a few more seconds before he would intervene. If Natasha could dissuade James from repeating yesterday anytime soon he was all for it.

“You needed to blow something alright.” Steve couldn’t tell if Natasha was referring to the guy James had been with or to the drugs he’d been doing of said guy’s thigh. And there was his helpful brain again, supplying him with a detailed HD-memory of exactly how things had gone down. As if he needed the mental imagery to remember. “You said you were done with that crap James.”

“I say a lot of things.” James mumbled, barely audible.

Steve couldn’t see it happening, but Natasha must have done something to twist James arm because suddenly he whined in pain and tried to twist his body away from hers despite the fact that that probably made her grip on him hurt even more. And that was it, that was definitely crossing the border of friendly roughhousing. Steve pushed away from the wall and put a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, warning her to let go or he would fight her. She threw him an assessing look over her shoulder and for a second it looked like she wasn’t going to back down, but then she let go of James and stepped back a few steps.

“You’re a good man, Steve Rogers.” Natasha said, looking from Steve to James and Steve couldn’t help feeling like he was missing something. Like he’d passed some sort of test without even knowing he was being tested.

“You fucked up my arm.” James complained, glaring at Natasha.

“Oh please.” Natasha said again, indicating that James was overreacting big time. “You’re just getting soft in your old age.”

“I am not.” James argued with little conviction behind his words.

“You’re coming to my gym tonight.” Natasha decided and Steve had a feeling that there was no other option, or she’d hunt James down and drag him to wherever she wanted him by the hair.

“Another work-out on top of this? Really?” Steve asked, waving his hand in the direction of the building behind them. His basic-training had had less hours of physical exercise a day than these ballerinas seemed to have.

“Yeah.” Natasha sounded like _he_ was the crazy one for thinking that that might be a bit over the top.

“Apparently, yeah.” James agreed, not sounding nearly as enthusiastic as Natasha wanted him to though because she gave him another glare. “Alright, alright, I’m coming, gees.” James added, his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.

Natasha seemed to accept that and fished the pack of cigarettes out from wherever she had been hiding them _(seriously, where had she been hiding them? Her clothes were formfitting and Steve hadn’t been able to spot anything on her body)_ and handed them to James.

“Are you coming?” Steve turned his attention around to Wanda, who had been quiet during their whole exchange. He didn’t realize that he might have overstepped until he felt both Natasha and James stare at him. Shit. He was supposed to be a professional, not one in the gang. Natasha and James banter made that hard to remember.

“Um, sure, yeah I mean.” Wanda answered quietly, clearly not used to being invited to things like this and uncomfortable having everyone look at her. “I’d like to?”

“Awesome.” James said, almost but not quite covering up the surprise in his voice.

“I’ll teach you my best moves!” Natasha promised, making a face as James light up another cigarette.

“Hey, you never taught me any moves!” James argued as he put the cigarette between his lips and took another drag. He had really pretty lips. In a completely objective professional-observation-kind-of-way of course.

“Didn’t need to, killer.” They way James reacted to that was definitely something Steve made a mental note of remembering. The phrasing and Natasha’s tone were playful and innocent enough, but James shoulders tensed up the same way they did whenever Mr. Pierces name was mentioned and he didn’t say another word as he finished his cigarette. Wanda and Natasha were making small-talk in the background, but Steve didn’t pay attention to them as he tried to figure James out. He needed to know more about the dancer’s past, and it wasn’t just out of professional necessity. He really cared about knowing who James really was.

***

When class let out that afternoon things went straight to hell. James checked his phone as he was stretching, using Natasha’s shoulder to really get at the muscles of the backside of his right leg. How was it possibly to be that flexible? Steve kept his eyes on the ceiling to intently that he missed the reaction James had at whatever was on his screen and barely had time to get up and follow the dancer as he bolted from the room.

“James! Wait, what is going on?” Steve asked as he caught up, jogging down the stairs with James and exiting through the back door again.

The two were faced with Brock as they came outside, leaning toward the hood of his car and looking particularly smug. Steve immediately got a bad feeling about the whole thing. It felt like they’d walked right into a trap. That was the look terrorists had on their faces right before a big bomb was about to blow up and there was nothing the American soldiers could do to stop it.

Breathe Steve.

Breathe.

James scanned the area in seconds and then looked at Rumlow with murder in his eyes. “Where’s my bike?” He bit out, knowing that he wasn’t going to be happy with the answer. And shit, Steve had almost forgotten about the bike from yesterday.

“Oh yeah. About that.” Rumlow scratched the back of his head, looking at his feet in a pretty poor imitation of someone who was really sorry about what they were about to confess. “There was an… accident.”

“What do you mean, an accident?” James started stalking toward Rumlow and didn’t stop until Steve caught up and put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back with force.

“Guy in a superhero-costume stopped me mid full-speed, threw me off the bike, jumped on himself and barreled away with it in a crazy car-chase. I almost got run over by the police.” Rumlow drawled, crossing and uncrossing his arms as he spoke and never letting that smirk leave his face. “Or maybe I ran it into one of the Stark factories outside the city. Expensive as shit to call an Uber and ride back, but completely worth it to watch the explosion. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The rest of the dancers had finished up after the class and were starting to exit the door just as James started screaming at Brock and Steve had to use both his hands to be able to restrain the dancer. “You piece of shit! You disgusting” Sure, Steve had spent a third of his life in the army, but he was pretty sure that including those times and every movie he’d ever watched he’d never heard anyone curse someone as harshly as James did Brock then. Sailors and pirates put together had nothing on James Barnes.

Then James broke into Russian and Steve was pretty sure that he’d exhausted the English vocabulary of insults at that point. Or at least Steve guessed it was Russian, it made the most sense that the foreign language the dancer chose when English failed him would be that of the country he grew up in. And then he suddenly turned on Steve.

“Let go of me.” He shouted and started trashing violently in Steve’s grip. Despite the fact that James had spent the entire day dancing until his body must have been starting to hurt Steve had a hard time keeping him in check. “I’m going to fucking kill him, let go.” The calm with which James said the words made Steve think that he wasn’t just speaking metaphorically.

Brock was laughing just a few feet away from them and the other dancers were watching the scene in front of them like it was their favorite TV-show. A real shitshow.

James managed to get one of his arms free, swinging at Steve and missing Steve’s jaw with barely an inch. He screamed something else in Russian at Rumlow and even in the chaos Steve saw the other bodyguard flinch at whatever James had said. Good for James, Steve thought smugly and a bit proudly. Until Rumlow decided that whatever James had shouted was enough of a provocation to escalate the situation that was. Then it wasn’t so good anymore.

Steve put himself between Rumlow and James as well as he could while still struggling to keep James from lunging at Brock. Rumlow threw the first punch, managing to hit James over the head over Steve’s shoulder and then getting in between Steve and James to land another two blows to the dancer’s stomach. James fought back though, and Steve was pretty sure that Rumlow would have some impressive bruising on his face the next day. If they didn’t kill each other before that was.

He regained his balance and got in between the fighting men again, blocking one of Rumlow’s punches with the side of his own face and then attempting to get some distance between James and the bodyguard. He missed Rumlow coming at them again though and Brock landed a blow to James face, splitting his lips and if Steve hadn’t grabbed a hold of the dancer he’d probably had hit his head hard on the pavement.

“That’s enough.” Commanded a voice which Steve had to consider a few seconds before recognizing. Mr. Pierce spoke a few other words in Russian and Rumlow backed off immediately. Steve really needed to get his hands on a Russian dictionary. Provided that Mr. Pierce wasn’t about to fire him that was.

“Any one of you still standing here when I get into the car is out of the company.” Pierce said as he started toward James, Steve and Rumlow and the rest of the dancers took the director at his word and scattered. Steve watched as Natasha’s gaze lingered on them, her concern easy to read and he nodded reassuringly at her. He’d take care of James.

“James. I was just coming to offer to buy a new bike for you, but watching this outburst I am not convinced that you are stable enough to be in traffic, much less on a deathmachine like the one you had before. You could hurt someone, or yourself. I’m having your driver’s license revoked, effective immediately. I will see you in my office tomorrow at lunch to discuss this further.” Mr. Pierce declared. James was looking at the ground the entire time, his body tense against Steve’s where he was still supporting the dancer.

When Mr. Pierce didn’t move Steve could feel James start fidgeting next to him. A few seconds of trying to figure out exactly what about Mr. Pierce that made James so uncomfortable, and then James spoke and it seemed to have been what Pierce was waiting for. “Yes Sir.” He spoke, almost a whisper and Steve wouldn’t have been able to hear if there hadn’t been a tense silence between them.

Rumlow and Mr. Pierce got into the car, Mr. Pierce in the back and Rumlow in passenger seat. Steve hadn’t even noticed that Rollins had been in the driver’s seat until he turned the car around and drove into the streets of New York.

Steve let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and ran a hand through his hair. This was nothing like his regular assignments, that was for sure. He felt like he’d stepped right into a warzone without knowing anything about the sides and alliances or even the language, and he was supposed to diffuse the bombs without hurting either side. This could not be good for his stress-levels. Not that he had ever cared about his stress levels in his live. If he had, he’d gone into IT like his mother had suggested when he started looking for colleges.

It took Steve a few moments of concentrating on his own breathing to calm himself down enough to be in state where he was fit to do his job again, but when he did he noticed that James was shivering. His whole body was vibrating next to Steve’s where they were still joined by the hip, brought together by the arm Steve had thrown around James shoulders to keep him from falling.

“James, are you alright?” Steve asked, concern bleeding through but to hell with being professional after what they’d just been through. He was pretty sure that what the dancer needed right about now was a friend, not a detached muscle-for-hire.

“James, hey.” Steve tried again, stepping around the dancer to stand in front of him and catch his eye when that didn’t work.

James eyes snapped up to meet his and for a moment the dancer looked confused, before his expression went worryingly neutral. Steve knew that look. He’d practiced it in the mirror for years until he perfected it and managed to fool everyone around him that he was perfectly alright. That no, he wasn’t bothered by the sound of a tire exploding, and sure, he’d tell you about the desert. No everything is fine, he got out alive, he was lucky, and happy to be home and be safe.

“Let’s get you home.” Steve said and started to pull James with him to get to the next main-street to catch a cab.


	5. The Nickname

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been stuck on this chapter for so long I just decided to post it so I could keep writing the next one, which will be way better and come soon. That's a promise! So don't judge me for how horrible this one chapter is, heh.

“You were right.” Steve said as they sat down at the dinner table. “Rumlow is a fucking asshole.” He clarified when James looked a bit confused. He didn’t get a response, but he hadn’t really been expecting one at this point. James hadn’t talked to him, or made a single sound, all the way home.

Steve sighed and took the plastic pitcher he’d found in the fridge. There had been five of them, all different bright colors and various stages of liquid and mass. They didn’t look very appetizing, but since it was the only food in the house they’d have to do. Besides, Steve didn’t really think he could stomach more solid foods at the moment. Adrenaline from the earlier confrontation was till pumping in his veins and his heart-rate still elevated.

He poured the red liquid in two glasses and put one down in front of James before trying his own one. He choked on the unexpectedly strong taste of hot sauce.

“What is in this?” He asked, sounding as if he was accusing James of trying to poison him, as soon as he’d managed to swallow and catch his breath from the initial chock.

“A bit of everything healthy on the planet. But given its Nat’s recipe there’s probably some baby’s-blood and stolen manhoods in there too.” James said, uncharacteristically quiet, like he was worried how his words would be received. “I added the hot sauce though. That’s the only way to make it bearable.”

“You think this is bearable?” Steve asked incredulously.

“S’not bad.” James demonstrated by finishing half his glass in one go. Steve shook his head and tried another sip, still not qualifying it as bearable.

“M’sorry.” Steve almost didn’t hear James say it. He had to put the glass down and study the dancer’s face to make sure he’d actually spoken. His head was hanging from his neck, face covered with strains of hair that had slipped free of the bun he’d been practicing in during the fight.

“For what?” Steve asked.

James huffed, as if Steve was asking a really stupid question. “For Rumlow punching you in the face. For me trying to punch you in the face.”

“I was literally doing my job.” Steve reminded him.

“Still, if I hadn’t been such a mess you wouldn’t have to do your job at all.”

Steve cocked his head to the side in surprise at that answer and busied himself with taking another sip from the god-awful-smoothie while he tried to come up with an answer to that kind of self-depriving comment.

“I should be the one apologizing you know.” He finally settled on.

That made James head snap up and he fixed Steve’s eyes with an intense look. “What? Why?” He asked.

Steve squirmed a bit under that look and he wasn’t sure if it was the smoothie with hot-sauce in it or if it was the guilt that made him slightly nauseous. “If I hadn’t let Brock take your bike yesterday-” Steve shrugged apologetically.

“You’re apologizing for that? Seriously?” Barnes eyes narrowed in a mix of irritation and disbelief.

“Well, yeah.” Steve offered.

James got up from the table and walked over to kitchen to rummage through what sounded like the freezer for a while, and Steve finished his smoothie. Steve focused on trying to get his heart-rate back down, taking slow deep breaths. This job was stressful on a whole other level than he was used to, and he had walked over minefields less unpredictable than the dancer.

Just when Steve started wondering what James was up to in the kitchen the other man came back, holding a bag of frozen peas in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. James sat back down at the table, putting his feet up on the tabletop (which looked really expensive) and slid the bag of peas over to Steve. “For your face.” James clarified and yeah right, Steve had almost forgotten that Brock had punched him.

He doubted that the cold would do much good hours after getting punched, but he held the bag to his face anyway. Then he watched as James opened the bottle of vodka, tipped his head back and drank several mouthfuls without stopping to breathe or gag. Steve was pretty certain that that wasn’t just a habit anyone who had lived a few years in Russia had.

“I’m not the kind of guy who should have a bodyguard, Steve.” James said once he’d placed the bottle back on the table, a noticeable amount of liquid gone. “I get hurt, I brought if on myself and you shouldn’t waste your time on me.”

“I don’t think you’re a waste of time Mr. Barnes.” Steve said honestly, frowning as James flinched.

“I’m not worth getting punched over.” James argued, taking another long swig of the alcohol. When he put the bottle down on the table again Steve reached over and snatched it up before the dancer could react to stop him.

“You don’t deserve getting punched.” Steve countered.

“You know nothing, Steve Rogers.” James reached out for the bottle of vodka across the table but Steve just slid it closer to him and ignored the look on James face. The least Steve could do was try protecting the dancer from himself, if he couldn’t protect him from co-workers and whatever else it was that clearly made him miserable.

“I know you’re a good man.” Steve said, completely serious. Sure, James had given him a lot of reasons to doubt that in the little time they’d known each other but Steve had a feeling that the rude-ness and violence was just a defense-mechanism. Being in therapy hadn’t just taught Steve about his own behavior, but about other’s as well.

“You really know nothing about pop-culture, do you?” James said as he gave up on getting the bottle back, instead folding his arms across his chest. It was an obvious attempt at lightening the mood and changing the subject. Steve hesitated a few seconds, stuck between wanting to press further and get through to the dancer but afraid to push too far. God knows he hated when people tried to push him that way. So he decided to drop it for now.

“So, when are we meeting Natasha?” He said, ignoring the jab about how he didn’t know even the most well-known references. Best to leave that alone, he knew all too well which spiral that train of thought led him down. Dr. Coulson would be seriously disappointed in Steve for shoving his thoughts out of the way instead of dealing with them in an healthy way, but he seriously didn’t have the time or energy to deal with his irrational fear of not being good enough right now.

“Ugh, you’re really makin’ me go?” James buried his head in his hands and groaned at the thought of going to Natasha’s gym like the redhead had requested.

“I’m not making you do anything, but I’m pretty sure she’d kick both of our asses if we don’t show and I’d rather be on her good side.” Steve laughed.

“Nat doesn’t have a good side, she’s a bitch through and through.” James joked, his fondness for the other ballerina clearly showing in his eyes. “We’ll leave in a few hours. I need to” He made a vague gesture toward himself and the bathroom and yeah, they could both use a clean-up before going out in public again.

***

 _“Steven!”_ The delighted squeal from the other end of the line made Steve smile into his phone as he leaned over the balcony-railing.

“Miss Potts.” He greeted her.

_“Oh please, you’re not my employee anymore Steven, surely you can finally start calling me Pepper?”_

“Sure Pepper.” Steve answered, still smiling. Miss Potts was one of the kindest people he’d ever met, it was pretty impossible not to smile while talking to her. “Look, I know that you are probably busy so I won’t be long, I just had a favor to ask.”

 _“Oh?”_ Pepper’s surprise was expected, she knew Steve and that he would never ask a favor of anyone unless he really, really needed it.

“I hope you don’t think it’s unprofessional of me to call you, but this isn’t just for me, it’s for you to, in a way.”

_“No, no, I’m happy to help with whatever you need Steven.”_

“Good, well, uhm, this is going to sound a bit strange maybe. But have there been any recent damages to Stark-industries factories? Maybe, involving a bike and an explosion outside of the city?”

_“Steve! Are you alright? They said no one was injured in the incident, but do you need medical attention?”_

“Take a breath Pepper, I wasn’t involved, I’m fine.”

 _“Oh thank god.”_ There was a beat of silence. _“Are you asking me to call of the legal team and the investigation? I mean that is a pretty big favor to ask Steve, but do owe you, and I trust your judgement…”_

“I was actually hoping that you _wouldn’t_ suspend the investigation.” Steve interrupted quickly. He didn’t want to Miss Potts to think that he was trying to protect someone from committing a crime, that was the last thing he’d do. “I know a few things that I hoped might lead to an arrest, and maybe even a conviction?”

_“Steve, what have you gotten yourself into?”_

“I kind of fucked up on my new assignment, and I’m trying to make things right. I know who crashed the bike.”

_“Well, Tony is going to be happy to hear that. He is on the war-path, I wouldn’t put it past him to start interrogating every single person who buys a new motorcycle this week personally.”_

“That’s Stark alright. But um, I can’t exactly testify or go on the record. That would be a conflict of interest and probably cause trouble for… my assignment.” He was about to say for someone I care about, before he thought better of it. He was acting unprofessionally enough as it was. “It wasn’t him though, my assignment I mean.” He quickly explained when he realized that what he’d explained might give Pepper the impression that he was trying to snitch on his assignment or something like that. “It was his, coworker I guess. Or more my coworker actually. Anyway. His name is Brock Rumlow.”

***

“Never have I ever gone to college.”

“Nat, seriously, we’re not playing never-have-I-ever like a bunch of teenagers.” James protested and glared at the redhead.

“Yes we are.” She declared and that was that, they were doing this.

They were sprawled out over the couches next to a rundown boxing-ring. James was perched on the back of one couch, his feet where he was supposed to sit with Natasha sitting cross legged next to his feet. The both of them had taken their shoes off and let their hair out. They looked ridiculously good for two people who’d just spent the better part of the last two hours kicking each other’s asses. Steve was leaning back against the corner of a second couch, angled so that he could watch both entrances to the room they were in, and Wanda sat opposite him.

“So, no college-kids in the room?” Natasha repeated the question, looking straight at Steve and he was starting to suspect that the reason for this game was so that she could interrogate him. He didn’t really mind though, it was sweet that she seemed to care enough about James to bother.

“Nope.” Steve said with a smile, letting her know that he was on to him.

“Really? You weren’t in a frat? Didn’t play college-ball?” James took a sip of the beer in his hand and eyed Steve suspiciously.

“Nope.” Steve repeated, popping the P and laughed a little at the thought of himself as the college-quarterback instead of letting himself fall into the pit of what-if-he’d-gone-to-college-instead-of-joining-the-military?

“Huh. That kind of shatters the whole embodiment-of-the-American-Golden-boy you’ve got going.”

“The embodiment of the American Golden boy? Really?” Steve laughed loudly at that one.

“Yeah, you’ve got the whole…” James waved his hand in Steve’s general direction and Steve had no idea what he meant by it.

“You look like you smell like apple pie and the American flag.” Natasha said, as if that was supposed to clear up everything. Steve was certain thought his face might get stuck on the confused expression. He had no idea if that was supposed to be an insult or not.

“Never have I ever vomited from too much alcohol.” James asked.

Steve took a sip of the water on the table next to him and Wanda made a face at the beer she drank from. James had tried insisting that Steve loosen up and have a beer because _come on Steve, there’s barely any alcohol in these things anyway_. Only Natasha’s glare had made him drop the subject and let Steve do his job. He was surprised to see that both Natasha and James claimed to never have been drunk enough to puke though.

“We’re Russian.” James shrugged at Steve’s expression of doubt.

“I’m Russian!” Wanda protested.

“Well, we’re scary Russians.” Steve laughed at that.

“What?” James was quick to reply.

“Nothing, just, she’s scary.” Steve inclined his head toward Natasha. “You’re not.” He smiled at James, falling into friendly teasing in a way he never usually did with his assignments.

“I’ll show you scary.” James muttered as if he was deeply insulted, but Steve could see the smile tugging on his lips. It was nice see this side of the dancer – relaxed with his friends instead of wound up and erratic.

“Never have I ever had siblings.” Steve asked when it was his turn. Wanda and James drank and Steve didn’t miss the worried look flashing over James face. _Sister, Rebecca, resides in NYC._ He didn’t get to dwell on it though because Wanda asked the next question.

“Never have I ever been in the White-house.” Steve and Natasha both drank and Steve found that out of all the things that had surprised him the past few days, that wasn’t very high on the list.

“Never have I ever been in love.” Natasha threw out there and James downed half of his beer in one go while Wanda took a sip of her and looked between Steve and Natasha with the expression of someone who was currently in love and felt terribly sorry for everyone around them who didn’t have what they had.

“Never have I ever slept with a girl.” Steve and Natasha drank, and James made a face which had them all laughing. Natasha pretended to be insulted by exclaiming a loud “Hey!”

“You offering to show me what I’ve been missing out on doll?” James said, his voice suddenly dripping with sex in a way that threatened to make Steve’s entire body shudder if he didn’t suppress it.

“You couldn’t handle me.” Natasha said, rolling her eyes and smacking James lightly on his leg.

“Don’t look at me.” Wanda held her hands up and returned the disgusted face James made earlier before he could even open his mouth.

“Your loss.” James shrugged.

“Never have I ever had a relationship.” Steve was the only one to drink, and if he’d hoped that the others wouldn’t remember him just admitting to never having been in love he was disappointed. No one pushed the subject further though which he was thankful for. The last thing he needed was to think about his failed relationship.

“Never have I ever slept with anyone at the Company.” James was the only one to drink and Steve had to force himself to keep a neutral expression on his face and remind himself that he barely even knew James. He should not be battling jealously right now.

“Really? Who?” Wanda said, sounding scandalized and delighted.

“We’ll be stuck here all night if I get started on that.” James said, the pride in his voice not quite matching the expression on his face.

Steve was apparently the only one who hadn’t played Strip-poker, James had once lost 10.000 dollars in a regular poker game, Natasha was the only one who had a pet, Steve being able to speak three different languages wasn’t impressive at all compared to James and Natasha who were fluent in no less than six. Natasha and Wanda had never tried drugs and Wanda was the only one who’d never fired a gun.

All in all, it was an interesting evening and Steve couldn’t quite remember when he’d had this fun hanging out with a group of friends. Probably never, but that was a depressing though to linger on so he tried to focus on the good stuff instead.

Once they were back inside their apartment James had surprised Steve by catching his elbow before they went into their different bedrooms.

“Hey Steve, call me Bucky, will you?” He’d said in a tone Steve couldn’t quite figure out the sentiment behind.

“Bucky?” He asked, surprised. He hadn’t known that his assignment had a nickname.

“Yeah. I was only James in Russia. Natasha refuses to call me anything but James, and Wanda is too scared of me to use a nickname but also too scared of me getting angry if she says James, so she just pretends I don’t have a name. But I prefer Bucky.” Bucky laughed a little, shrugging as if to indicate that it wasn’t a big deal or anything. But Steve could see that it really was.

“Alright Bucky.” He said seriously and he found that he really liked the name. It suited him. James might have been appropriate for the serious ballet-dancer but it didn’t quite fit the charming and easygoing person Steve had watched interact with his friends that evening.

“Thanks Steve.” Bucky said, letting go of Steve’s arm and ducking into his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos keep me going, you guys are awesome and I love you for liking what I write!


	6. The Bad day - Steve

Steve was just downing another kind of the terrible protein-shakes in Bucky’s fridge when the door to the ballerina’s bedroom opened. He glanced at the clock on the wall, glad that he’d already ordered a cab. They might not be late if Bucky was ready to go.

“Bucky?” He called, peeking out from the kitchen just in time to see the dancer make a run for the bathroom. He wasn’t dressed to go to class, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a t-shirt hanging from his shoulders inside out. Just a few seconds later Steve heard the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting into a toilet and he immediately grew concerned.

“Bucky? You alright?” He asked, hovering just beyond the other side of the bathroom door. He didn’t think that the dancer had had time to lock it, but he wanted to respect the man’s privacy anyway. He tried again a minute later when no answer came and the retching had stopped. “Do you need a doctor or something?”

“Go away Steve.” Came the answer a few seconds later, followed by another round of vomiting.

“Are you sick?”

Bucky laughed at that and Steve heard him mumble “I’m all kinds of sick” to himself, barely audible through the door and Steve wondered if he wasn’t supposed to have heard it.

“Maybe you should stay home today.” Steve decided to try a different approach.

“Shit.” Bucky swore loudly and uttered another few words in Russian. Steve guessed they were curse-words as well. “What time is it?”

“The car will be here in ten minutes and we might just make it on time. But are you sure you should go in today if you’re sick?”

“I’m fine.” Bucky vomited again.

“You’re not fine.” Steve argued.

The toilet flushed and then Bucky ran the water for a few minutes, before he opened the door. “I’m fine.” He said, as if saying it enough times would make it so. He didn’t look to bad – he’d put his head under stream of water in the sink and slicked it back. The t-shirt lay in a heap on the floor and Bucky’s toned chest and slim waist were on full display. He must have noticed Steve’s attempt at not staring, because he cocked his hip to the side, ran a hand through his hair and took a step closer to Steve.

“Yeah, I’m damn fine.” He said.

Steve burst into a fit off laughter which might have been a bit too hysterical to convince anyone that he hadn’t been affected by the way Bucky looked when he turned his body into sex on a stick, but the comment was just too damn ridiculous.

“Too loud.” Bucky protested, dropping the flirtatious act and pressing the heels of his palms to his temples. That’s when Steve realized what Bucky had come down with – not food poisoning but a hangover. He frowned and took a breath and yeah, he hadn’t noticed it before, but the dancer smelled more like a bottle vodka than a person.

“Save the judgement.” Bucky snapped when he must have seen the realization hit Steve. “And the lecture.” He added, tone bordering on angry, and brushed past Steve into the living room.

“I wasn’t gonna.” Steve said honestly. It wasn’t like he hadn’t engaged in pretty destructive behavior over the years himself and he tried really hard not to judge people. That wasn’t saying that he didn’t _want_ to give Bucky a lecture or two though, but doing it at six in the morning when the guy was hungover wasn’t likely to be effective.

Bucky emerged from his room dressed in tights and a tank-top a few minutes later and Steve handed him a bottle of water which he reluctantly accepted and proceeded to finish before they were even halfway to the studio.

They made it to the studio with a minute to spare and Natasha turned to greet them. Her smile died the second she laid eyes on Bucky though and Steve was starting to worry that he’d have to pull the two off of each other again. They argued in Russian, Bucky throwing a glance at Steve every now and then and Steve got the feeling that the reason they spoke another language wasn’t just habit – Bucky didn’t want Steve to know what they were saying.

“Why do you have to destroy everything good in your life?” Natasha switched to English and earned herself a murderous glare from Bucky. A few of the other dancers looked up from their warm-up and quiet conversations but no one looked all that surprised to see Natasha and Bucky argue.

“You don’t know shit about it Natasha.” Bucky spat, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as if he really wanted to take out his frustration on the red-head’s face.

“I know you’re hopeless!” She practically screamed and Steve squirmed under the growing attention they got even though none of the other ballerinas were paying attention to him specifically.

“So stop trying to” Bucky fell into Russian in the middle of the sentence and Steve lost track of the argument again. Natasha threw her hands in the air in an exasperated gesture at the same time Jane entered the room and the dancers got to their starting positions.

***

Two hours into practice it was obvious not only to Steve, but to every other dancer in the room that Bucky was _not_ fine. Steve had trouble keeping up with even the simplest beat on the dancefloor and he lacked all sense of rhythm, but even he saw that Bucky was out of sync with the piano-music more than he was on point. He forgot which order he was supposed to take his steps in and the class had start from the beginning several times because of it.

Natasha smacked him over the head during their first water break and Bucky threw the remaining water in his cup at her, and things only escalated from there. Steve felt like he was watching a car-crash in slow motion. Bucky moved left instead of right and only barely missed stepping on the toes of a tall girl with black hair who let out a loud cry of protest. Bucky snapped at her, to Steve's surprise - it wasn't like had done anything wrong. And then Natasha left her spot in the room to step into Bucky's face and demand to know what his problem was. Jane had to slam a handful of keys on the piano to drown out the nasty words Bucky was Natasha's way. Once the piano's cry died down they all got back to their initial positions, but Bucky proceeded to not hit his mark once for the next twenty minutes.

“Bucky for fuck's sake!” The loud cry made seemed to surprise everyone and the piano-music died down. Jane was leaning against the piano, slender fingers gripping the polished tree as if to ground herself as she glared at her dancer. The dancing in the room came to an instant stop and Bucky reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck, his shoulders slumping. “You sit and watch for the rest of the day before you kill someone. And don’t think I won’t tell Pierce about this.” Steve thought knew how Bucky was bound to react to Mr. Pierce’s name being invoked by now and sure, the dancer’s body tensed up, but he didn’t move to do as he’d been told. Instead he bolted for the door and Steve only barely had time to react and run after him.

“Bucky!” Jane’s shout was cut off as the door to the dance hall snapped shut behind Steve. He just had time to see Bucky charge into the locker-room on the opposite side of the hall and followed him inside.

“Hey Bucky?” He said, his words almost drowning out the sound of someone vomiting as the sound echoed off the tiled walls. “Can I- can I do something?” Steve tried, sitting down on a bench next to the bathroom-stalls. He was pretty sure that the reason for Bucky’s poor performance wasn’t purely due to his hangover. The dancer had been just fine dancing for hours after doing cocaine and only getting a handful of hours of sleep. Not that Steve was an expert on the effects various drugs had on the body, but he figured that there should be some effects at least. And Bucky seemed like the kind of person who would push through and prove his body wrong if it tried to quit on him.

“Go away Steve.” Came the answer a after a few seconds, this time way it sounded way weaker than it had this morning though, trembling a bit at the last syllable of his name.

“Nope.” Steve said, trying for a smile while he rubbed the palms of his hands together.¨

Bucky groaned unhappily at that but he flushed the toilet and Steve took that as a good sign, even though he didn’t come out of the booth.

“You wanna talk about it?” He tried, channeling Sam and trying to think what his best friend would do if he was here. Sam was a natural at getting people to open up, always saying the right things and bringing people out of their shells, even people who were terrible at talking about their feelings and problems. People like Steve. He was seriously underqualified for this kind of thing – he’d jump in front of several bullets rather than talk about things like this.

“Do I wanna talk about it?” Bucky repeated skeptically, like the question had caught him off guard.

“Yeah.” Steve shrugged even though Bucky couldn’t see it.

“What is it that I’m supposed to want to talk about?”

“Whatever had you trying to drink and entire liquor-store last night?” Steve suggested, almost cringing at how forced the words sounded. He really sucked at the whole talking-thing. Dr. Coulson would probably be proud enough to award him with a gold star if he knew how hard Steve was trying though (and not just metaphorically, the man actually had gold-star-stickers in his desk).

“Was that a supernatural-reference?”

“What?”

“Seriously, is there _any_ TV-show you _have_ watched?” Steve imagined Bucky rolling his eyes at him and was happy to let the dancer joke at his expense if it meant that he got into a better mode.

“There’s no cable in the sandbox.” He answered reflexively before he could bite his tongue. Way to bring down the mode back down Steve.

Bucky came out of the stall then. “Sorry.” He said, the seriousness and honesty in his eyes surprising Steve, before heading over to wash his hands and wash the taste of bile out of his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve hurried to say. “I’ve got a list on things I’m gonna catch up on.”

“You better have Harry Potter on there.” Bucky said, eyes narrowing as he leaned his back against the sink.

“Isn’t that for kids?” Steve felt compelled to ask, even though it was obvious by Bucky’s expression that no – Harry Potter was not for children and how dared Steve even have such impure thoughts?

“That’s it! You’re fired. I can’t have someone like you in my house.”

“Technically I don’t work for you.” Steve said, cocking his head and raising a challenging eyebrow before he could think better of it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“ He quickly added as he saw some of the regained color on Bucky’s face drain away again. Really, how many times was it possible to put one’s foot on one’s mouth during one conversation?

“Don’t.” Bucky cut him off, voice void of emotion and eyes blank.

They were silent for a few seconds, the thing with Mr. Pierce, _whatever it was_ , hanging between them and poisoning the air until Steve felt like it would physically affect him.

“Hey, how about we go from breakfast? Jane would probably be pissed if we tried to go back in, and I don’t know how you have been able to throw up anything other than fluid. When was the last time you ate?” Steve was pretty sure that it was the shake they’d shared before going to Natasha’s gym the day before. He’d bought a sandwich and a salad for himself on the way back, but Bucky had declined with a not very convincing excuse about the dancers being on a strict diet.

He figured that Bucky had to be seriously hungry by now, but all he got for his offer was a glare which undoubtedly said _are you my mother or my babysitter?_

“Well, I at least need something other than those awful shakes. I think Natasha might be trying to slowly poison you.”

“If Nat wanted me dead she’d be smarter about it.” Bucky said in a disturbingly serious tone. “But alright, it’s not like I can get into more trouble than I’m already in.” He headed for the exit from the locker-room and Steve followed, even as he tried to protest.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble though, if you need to finish your class-“

“Nah, I can’t let my best bodyguard starve, now can I?” Bucky interrupted.

“You only have one bodyguard.” Steve pointed out, not able to accept a compliment even if it was offhanded and more a joke than an actual comment. He and Dr. Coulson had been working at that last year but it sent Steve into a series of panic-attacks and they’d decided to revisit the subject later.

“That you know of.” Bucky threw him a smile over his shoulder as they descended the stairs and headed for the back-exit.

***

They found a small diner just a few blocks from the studio and the waitress said that since they could choose freely from both the breakfast and lunch-menu and smiled brilliantly at the both of them. Bucky slid into a booth while Steve did a quick sweep of the dining area before sitting down on the opposite side of the table.

“You don’t gotta do that.” Bucky said, his voice low enough that Steve could have ignored it and pretended not to hear it without it being weird.

He wasn’t going to let that one go though, so he pressed. “What? My job?”

“Yeah.” Bucky confirmed, pretending to study his food options on the menu-card.

“Wouldn’t be right for me to just accept a paycheck and then not do the job.”

Bucky scoffed. “Don’t tell me, you never cheated in high school because that would be _wrong_?”

Steve opened his mouth to protest but realized that that was actually pretty accurate assessment of his high school-experience. “What’s wrong with following the rules eh?” He smiled, slightly embarrassed to admitting to that when Bucky clearly had shown huge distain for the _law_ , much less the rules.

“Nothin’ Stevie, nothin’ at all.” Bucky smiled back. That wasn’t the reaction Steve was expecting from the dancer at all, and the surprise made him sit in quiet for a few seconds. The live-a-little-Steve, or you’re-no-fun-Steve’s were so often the reaction that he’d learned to expect them and acknowledge with a shrug that _yeah he was pretty boring, sorry_.

“Stevie?” He asked after a few seconds when he realized that Bucky had given him a nickname.

Bucky looked up from his menu-card and looked ridiculously pleased with himself. “Yep.” He smiled and went back to trying to pick something to eat.

Steve laughed a bit to himself but he didn’t say anything to protest the nickname. It was kind of nice and Bucky seemed to like it. And Steve was _fucked_. He was eternally grateful to have his own menu-card to hide behind as he felt heat creeping into his cheeks when he realized that he was crushing on his assignment. After just a few days. As if he needed to complicate this assignment (or his life) (or Bucky’s life) further.

The waitress came by a minute later with two cups of coffee they hadn’t ordered. Steve looked at her in surprise and saw Bucky rolling his eyes in the corner own eye.

“You boys know what you want yet?” She asked, smiling brilliantly. They ordered – Steve getting two burgers with fries and a side-salad from the lunch-menu and Bucky an omelet from the breakfast-menu.

“Alright.” The waitress said once she’d written their orders down. “We’ve got free refills on the coffee for as long as you want to stay.” She added, smiling and looking almost exclusively at Steve as she said it.

“Um, thanks.” He managed, caught off guard by the attention and her big smile. He’d been so focused on trying to not stare at Bucky that he’d almost forgotten she was there.

“I’m Beth. Just let me know if you need anything else.” She continued.

“Thanks.” Steve repeated and she nodded at them and left.

“Smooth.” Bucky commented, taking a sip of his coffee despite the fact that it had to be way too hot to be drinkable.

“What?”

“She was flirting with you, and all you had was ‘um thanks’?”

“She wasn’t flirting, she was being nice.” Steve protested. Sam used to do that as well, claim that anyone who was nice to Steve was flirting with him, and it always made him uncomfortable. He really didn’t need people trying to boost his confidence by pretending that strangers were attracted to him, he wasn’t _that_ pathetic.

“She wanted you to take her out back and fuck her in the alley.” Bucky said casually, as if he was talking about the weather.

It was a good thing they hadn’t gotten their food yet, or Steve would have choked on more than just air. He coughed a few times, feeling himself starting to blush.

“You can’t-“ Steve started, losing his train of thought and having to start again. “That’s rude.”

“S’ not rude if it’s true.” Bucky shrugged, looking amused by Steve’s reaction to his vulgar comment.

“I’m pretty sure that makes no sense.” Steve countered.

“There’s a lot of things in the world that doesn’t make sense Steve. The Kardashians, socks with print on them, sushi, country music.” Bucky started rattling this off like he had a whole list prepared.

“You don’t like sushi?” Steve interrupted.

“Hate it.” Bucky said with determination, disgust creeping into his features at just the thought of it. “In fact, don’t even talk about.”

Steve put his hands up in front of him in a sign of surrender and they shared a laugh before going back to their coffee.

“She was flirting with you though.” Bucky pressed after a sip of coffee. Steve rolled his eyes in hopes that it would get Bucky to drop the subject. “If you smile at her we might get free desert.”

“She wasn’t flirting.” Steve insisted. “And even if she was I wouldn’t lead her on just so I don't have to pay 3 bucks for a slice of pie.”

“How noble of you.” Bucky said, probably meaning for it to be sarcastic but it didn’t really sound like that. It sounded like he actually meant it.

Their food arrived a minute later and they ate mostly in silence, but Steve could feel Bucky’s mode change even if they didn’t speak. He’d looked at his phone, didn’t unlock the screen so presumably he’d seen the time or an alert and then he pushed his half-eaten plate aside and stuck to his coffee. A few minutes later he’d started tapping his feet against the leg of the table, sending small vibrations through the whole thing. Then he stole a few of Steve’s fries, despite having own food. It wasn’t that Steve minded, he’d ordered plenty, but it was obvious that Bucky didn’t do it because he felt like fries, he was doing it as a nervous tic.

When Steve was almost finished with his second burger, the fries were gone and Bucky had resorted to start chewing his nails Steve couldn’t simply politely ignore Bucky’s change of mode anymore.

“What?” He said, the word coming out more snappy than he intended it to, but by then Bucky was dragging his fork across the plate, making a gritting high-pitched noise.

“Nothing.” Bucky answered automatically, glaring at Steve with an obvious mind-you-own-business-look.

Steve reached out to gently grab Bucky’s wrist to stop him playing with the fork. The diner was starting to fill up with the lunch-rush and other people were bound to get annoyed by the sound soon. Bucky didn’t react well to the touch though, snatching his wrist away from Steve’s fingers so fast he sent the fork flying across the floor and made Steve jump in surprise.

“Don’t!” _–touch me._ Bucky said, standing from their booth in a flash.

“Hey-“ Steve started, more than a little rattled by the dancer’s fierce reaction.

“I gotta be back at the studio.” Bucky cut in, his voice flat and his face turned away from Steve so he couldn’t discern his expression. But there was the stiffness in the dancer’s body which Steve had learned to associate with the mention of Mr. Pierce. He remembered that the director had wanted to meet with Bucky the day before, when he and Rumlow had tried to fight each other. He supposed that it was natural for Bucky to be a bit nervous about getting in trouble with his boss, but he doubted that the dancer wouldn’t actually be fired or anything really bad. Mr. Pierce cared enough about James to put him up in an expensive home and hire a body-guard for him, and yesterday was obviously not the first time Bucky had acted out.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He said, trying to offer some comfort while he pulled out a few bills from his wallet to cover tips and their food. Bucky walked out without acknowledging that he’d even heard him, and Steve had to hurry to catch up before they got outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be from Bucky's perspective, and a lot of things will be revealed!
> 
> Thanks for reading and sticking with this story!!


	7. The Bad day - Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so this is going to be way darker than usual, so just a warning to re-read the tags before you keep going. The chapter is going to include rape (or at the very least extremely dubious consent due to blackmail and manipulation) and references to suicide. So if you're not comfortable with that you better skip this chapter.

Bucky is down on his knees and one elbow, ordered into the position just shy of two minutes after he locked the door to Pierce’s office, the blonde man behind the desk more eager than usually to get started. He’s been prepping himself on his fingers, hates himself for being _grateful_ that he’s allowed that, while the director finished up his lunch, trying to ignore the leering gaze burning holes through his back. At least it’s just the two of them today – Rumlow made to stand outside and Rollins nowhere in sight.

The humiliation at being forced on display on the floor while the director ate his lunch like Bucky wasn’t even in the room barley registered with him anymore. Most people treated their dogs better, but then again, dogs were loyal and kind and sweet animals and deserved to be treated well.

He hisses a bit when he pushes a third finger into himself, way too soon for it to go in easy but that’s the point. He wants to get things moving as fast as possible and the pain is a nice perk. Physical pain he can handle, its grounding and clean and keeps him from thinking about things that hurts way worse, like the look on Steve’s face when Bucky had snapped at him earlier. Or the nagging worry that Natasha will get sick of his crap soon and just leave him in the hole he’s working so hard to dig himself out of (that’s the thing about holes though, can’t _dig_ out of them). Or the fact that Rumlow destroyed his bike, the one thing that gave him freedom and a sliver of control over his own life.

He winces as Pierce bends and delivers a smack to his ass, not the slightest bit arousing, to remind him to keep quiet. Pierce doesn’t want to be _disturbed_ when he’s eating. Like they both don’t know that the only reason for why the man isn’t balls deep in Bucky yet is because he knows that Bucky hates it when he draws their meetings out. He goes back to his lunch after that, keeping Bucky in suspense no doubt. It works, and Bucky fucking hates how it works. Hates how he has to keep his fingers from shaking and his breath from going irregular. It gives Bucky time to think, time to regret the things he’s in trouble for just like a child made to face the corner for a time out. Bucky fucking hates it, because if Pierce knows anything it’s how to manipulate people.

Bucky curses himself repeatedly for how he keeps getting himself back into this exact situation and for the circle he’s trapped himself in. He’ll go back to provoking Pierce like it’s nothing in a few days and then he’ll end up here again, like his memory gets wiped the second he leaves Pierce’s office. He cares about his reasons to obey, he cares about them so damn much when he’s here, at the blonde man’s mercy and feet. He hates himself for how stupid he is, how selfish and wreckless he is for pushing the director when he knows what the man is capable of doing. But he’s weak and whenever he gets a chance at rebellion, no matter how futile it is, he’ll take it and run with it, consequences be damned.

A few minutes later, just when Bucky is contemplating whether or not to risk shifting a bit to try and take some pressure of his aching knees, he hears Pierce finish his lunch. The man put down his chopsticks and pushed the tray of sushi to the side. It was always fucking sushi. Bucky swore Pierce smelled like raw fish more often than not.

“I hear you’ve had quite the week James.” Pierce says, voice like honey filled with flies who’ve been lured in to drown. “Brock told me all about your latest adventure and your behavior.” Of course he had. Bucky had expected no less of Rumlow. The man was a walking parody of himself, only able to pry himself away from tonguing Pierce’s asshole long enough to tell anyone he met how straight and manly he was. What made Bucky grind his teeth wasn’t the fact that Rumlow had told Pierce, it was the way he had turned on the charm for Steve, who undoubtedly believed that Rumlow was sincere. Hell, knowing Steve (and the way that man wore his heart on the sleeve Bucky was pretty certain he had him pegged) the man probably went around thinking he owed Brock a favor now. All because Steve had been trying to protect him and not get him into trouble. Like Bucky wasn’t the kind of person who deserved everything Pierce gave him and more.

“And now you’re underperforming in class. Jane worries that you’ll mess up the entire season if you don’t get your act together. She insisted on giving your part to someone else before it’s too late into rehearsal.” Bucky froze at that, his heartrate picking up and he didn’t seem to be able to move even though Pierce hadn’t told him to stop moving his fingers. He tried to get his body to comply but he couldn’t get over the revelation that Jane was pushing to replace him. Sure – he wouldn’t blame her, he was a mess. A great dancer most of the time but he was also unreliable and unstable and he was half surprised that she hadn’t pushed for him to be kicked out of the company sooner actually. But she couldn’t replace her – she _couldn’t_. If he wasn’t dancing-

“There, there, don’t worry James. I convinced her to hold off going to the board for now. I do love watching you perform, wouldn’t want to miss out on that. But you’re going to have to work to earn your place.”

Bucky didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he let it out. “Thank you, Sir.” He said, honest gratefulness in his voice because Pierce would like that even though it hurt his own pride. The man made noncommittal noise and Bucky felt him move closer behind him and suppressed a shiver. He winced, part pain and part surprise, when Pierce shoved his own fingers in where Bucky’s had just been.

“I didn’t tell you do stop, did I?” The man asked and Bucky had to wait a few breaths do answer as he readjusted to the intrusion and the sharp shoves of Pierce’s fingers.

“Sorry, Sir.” He said, his voice barely steady but he didn’t dare hold off on apologizing any longer. And he was sorry, he was so fucking sorry. Sorry for not being strong enough, sorry for being such a mess, sorry for the other people he’d put in danger by getting involved with them.

“We’ll see just how sorry you are later. As for now, I haven’t even finished telling you what you’re sorry _about_.” Pierce admonished.

“I hope that Captain Rogers gives you some incentive to not pick any more fights with Brock at least. It’s his job to get in between the two of you now, and you know that I don’t keep Brock around because he holds anything back.” Bucky wanted to bite back that Steve could take it, he could fucking handle someone like Brock. But he didn’t, because Steve shouldn’t _have_ to take it, not because of Bucky.

“And you will stop filling your body with unhealthy substances – drug, alcohol, pizza.” Mr. Pierce sounded like the pizza disgusted him the most out of the three and Bucky’s head shot up in surprise. He’d completely forgotten about the pizza he’d eaten that first day with Steve and he must not have remembered to get rid of the evidence before the housekeeper could see it. He remembered putting it in the sink, the way he always did when he needed to remember to take things out and put it in the neighbor’s bins before his housekeeper could snoop around in his garbage. But he couldn’t remember that it had been there the next morning. Steve must have seen it and put it in the trash. Fucking Steve, so perfect that it hurt. He’d probably even recycled it in the bins Bucky had never once payed attention to.

“Oh, you didn’t think I’d find out about that, did you?” Pierce hadn’t missed the reaction of course and Bucky immediately flinched at his tone. He was a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie-jar, only instead of a stern talking-to he’d get his hands cut straight off.

“I’m not going to want you when your body starts sagging, you know. You had such promise, James.” Bucky forced his breathing to cooperate with him as he felt Pierce withdrew his fingers and move closer to replace them with his dick. There were no condom – of course there wasn’t and not for the first time Bucky was tempted to go out and try catching as many diseases as possible until their next meeting. He wouldn’t of course, god only knew how that would backfire since the things that only mildly annoyed Pierce resulted in terrible punishments. But the idea was satisfying to entertain as he felt the man push in and willed his body to not show the revulsion he felt.

In the early days Bucky had been taught to be strong. To withstand pain with a blank mask of indifference, to feel bones break without making a sound. To show no weakness, to take everything and then some without complaining. He’d had complete control over his body and its reactions down to the last inch. The perfect dancer and instrument. He hadn’t just had promise – he’d been everything. But it still hadn’t been enough and now he was just broken. Broken with no way to fix himself and that was just how Pierce liked him.

“First time I saw your work I almost cried you know.” Bucky knew that Pierce wasn’t talking about his dancing and the reminder of his previous career made him swallow hard before his stomach could get any ideas of kick his lunch back up. Bucky wasn’t entirely sure that Pierce would make him clean the floor with his tongue if he vomited on it, and he really didn’t want to risk it. “But since you’re useless to HYDRA now the only use I have of you is this body. And you don’t want me to get bored with it, do you?” (Hail HYDRA.)

Bucky fucking missed Russia and his old life – he missed being the star dancer as well as their best asset. He missed being their star, their pride and he missed being a soldier. _The_ soldier. Life had been so simple and clear, he always knew what was expected of him and he always executed his missions, always followed through on orders exemplary. Back then he didn’t have to think or take responsibility, he answered to his mentor and was all. He missed-

“- so you might have been special, but you’re not anymore. Schmidt always doted way too hard on you.” Bucky must have zoned out for a while and he snapped back into attention but it didn’t seem like Pierce had noticed the lack in attention. Maybe there was a god after all. “There are plenty of dancers I can replace you with who wouldn’t be half as difficult and much more _enthusiastic_ , I’m sure.” Yeah no, if god ever existed he probably killed himself when he realized that his creation had led to the likes of people like Pierce walking around.

Bucky knew it wasn’t his enthusiasms and commitment that Pierce was disappointed with though. Hell, if that had been the issue Bucky would be down on his knees begging every day, but he knew from experience that that wasn’t it. Pierce enjoyed the struggle, he liked Bucky’s inability to keep within the rules, his rebellion. He would always push, no matter how hard Bucky had tried to be good in the beginning - before he’d learned the game Pierce was playing. No one except Pierce ever won that game because he rigged it from the start.

Pierce had set up a steady pace now, fucking in an out of Bucky without really putting any thought into it, jut methodical and clean pushes as to not tip anyone over the edge. The only thing Pierce liked more than psychological warfare was the sound of his own voice, Bucky could tell that he was nowhere near done.

“T’Challa is here on a preliminary visa, I’m sure he’d be happy to do anything to make that more permanent, especially since all I have to do is lift my finger and have that permit goes away.” Pierce pondered casually, like he wasn’t talking about destroying a man’s career and life. Bucky wasn’t especially close to the other male dancer, they were pretty hard rivals, both always angling for the main roles. He rarely came out to socialize but the thought of him in Bucky’s place, on his knees in front of Pierce still made Bucky’s stomach turn. He deserved better than that.

“Natasha has been racking up a lot of debt with a lot of bad people lately.” Bucky felt his forehead wrinkle at that reveal. He’d had no idea – how had he not known that? Because he was a terrible and selfish friend, that was probably how – too absorbed in his own personal problems that he didn’t have time for anyone else. And if Natasha was having financial problems he was the cause if it, it was entirely his fault that she’d lost her sweet setup with the government and gotten black-listed. He knew that she’d never sink to the level he was at right now, she was so much better than that and Pierce probably knew it too. But there were plenty of other ways the man could hurt Bucky’s best friend and they both knew it.

“Fandral needs to kick-start his career, he’d do whatever it took to get out from under your shadow.” Bucky didn’t doubt that – Fandral was a good dancer by any measure, he just wasn’t as good as Bucky or T’Challa. And he was always frustrated that he never got enough time in the spotlight, close enough to see the end of his career approaching if something didn’t change soon.

“And Wanda would do anything to get her brother back. She would definitely be more cooperative than you. Don’t you think? She’s a real number too, so… fragile.” The look in his eyes as Pierce thought about Wanda made Bucky shiver. She’d break from a fraction of what Bucky could take and it was obvious that Pierce was itching to get his hand on her too, the only reason why didn’t already was so he could keep threatening Bucky.

He wants to beg. He wants to beg so badly he’s shaking with it (or maybe that was just from being in that position on his knees on the hard floor for so long). Beg Pierce and tell him he’ll do anything to keep Wanda and Natasha and Steve and everyone else out of it, but he knows it won’t do any good. Pierce will probably just be annoyed Bucky interrupted the monologue and they both already knew that Bucky was desperate to keep his friends out of this. That was why he was where he was now.

“You should thank me, you know. For keeping you and treating you so well when all you do is fight my generosity.” And that right there is the reason for why Bucky never lasts a day without acting out. Because Pierce controls every inch of his life and there is no right play in Pierce’s game. He knows, by horrible experience, that he can’t do anything right because Pierce will find something faulty with everything he does. The more perfect Bucky tried to be, in the beginning, the harder Pierce worked to break him down. And once he broke he kept pushing, always pushing harder.

“Here I am, providing you with a gorgeous home,” Bucky has found two well-hidden surveillance-cameras so far and he’s pretty sure that there are more. Not to mention that he knows that his phone is tapped and he wouldn’t be surprised if Pierce has some way to get into his browsing-history.

“And with a maid to boot.” A spy more like it. The woman is good but Bucky is certain that she checks every inch of the place for things he might be hiding every time she’s over there.

“I even got you a bodyguard.” Yeah, and Steve is sweet and all but Bucky is just waiting for the other shoe to drop on that one. He claims not to be his babysitter and that he only wants to keep Bucky safe and crap like that, but there is an ulterior motive behind everything Pierce does. Steve might even know about the end-game, and Bucky is a fucking idiot for giving the puppy on steroids the benefit of doubt when he is literally being paid by Pierce. People do way shadier stuff than spy on Bucky for _free_ when Mr. Pierce asks them to.

“And I had Brock get rid of that awful motorcycle. That thing was dangerous, just think how you could have hurt yourself if you’d been in an accident.” And that is it, that is fucking it. Bucky bites down on his lip as hard as he can to keep from not screaming. All he wants to do is push Pierce off of him, turn around and show the man just how much he still remembers from his training in the Red Room Academy. All the ways he knows how to make people hurt and then disappear into pieces that no one can recover any traces of DNA from.

Pierce must notice how he tenses up because the man hums like is satisfied with himself and picks up the pace, the fingertips at Bucky’s hips already forming bruises.

“I’m away on business for the week. But I want you to come over to my house when I get back. I’ll let you show your appreciation then.” Bucky goes cold at the request. He’d known that it was inevitable but hearing the order out loud made it more real, and he felt like someone had already dumped buckets of ice-water over him. Going over to Pierce’s house always meant ice. Rollins would be there for course, and knowing his luck, probably Brock as well.

Bucky almost doesn’t notice as Pierce comes and pulls out, gives him a few hard slaps across his ass, too busy trying to reign in his mind as the memories of previous days spent at Pierce’s house tries to break through the defenses he’s set up around them. If he doesn’t think about it, it’s not real. It’s only real if he lets it be real.

“As for now, I think I need to remind you just how serious I am. HYDRA needs someone to take care of a situation over in Russia, I think Wanda’s brother is the perfect man for the job. Don’t you?” (Hail HYDRA) Bucky’s heart skips a beat, because he knows that tone, the way he can hear Pierce smile his most darling smile. Like he’s giving someone the job-opportunity of a life-time, not sending them deeper into the claws of a criminal organization as a part of a sadistic game they shouldn’t even be a part of in the first place.

“No, please-“ Bucky doesn’t get words out before Pierce kicks him the side probably right where the kidney goes, and knocks the ability to speak out of him. Pierce has clearly made up his mind and wouldn’t want to hear it even if Bucky was able to offer him the world.

He hears Pierce leave the office, the door shutting behind him but not locking and fuck Bucky needs to get off the floor before someone can walk in and see him like this. All he can see is Wanda in a hospital-bed after she tried to kill herself because Pierce had her brother deported, and now because of Bucky, that brother is going to be in HYDRA for the rest of his life or end up cut to pieces. Maybe they’ll even send Wanda some. (Hail HYDRA)


	8. The Bad day II - Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated the tags for some things in this chapter, so please re-read them before continuing. Sorry for the delay on the chapter!

Bucky had gone into Mr. Pierce’s office and all but slammed the door in Steve’s face without so much as looking back at his bodyguard once since they left the diner. Usually Steve would have insisted on being in the room with Bucky, not only because it was protocol but it was also explicitly stated in his contract that he should be with Bucky at all times. And he really wanted to know why Mr. Pierce set Bucky off the way he did.

But before Steve could even raise his hand to knock and open the door it was opened again, and Brock Rumlow almost ran into him as he exited the office. He stopped a bit too close for comfort, well into Steve’s personal space, and his face broke into a grin that was probably supposed to be friendly. But given what Steve now knew about the man he didn’t quite buy it.

“Rogers! Just the man I was looking for. There’s coffee down in the reception with our names on it.” Brock said as he closed the door and Steve had to hold himself back from leaning in to peek inside, maybe try and give Bucky a final comforting or reassuring smile.

Steve hesitated at the thought of leaving though. If he wasn’t allowed inside than he was at least going to stand outside the door and do his job. Sure, nothing life-threatening had happened the last few days but Steve wasn’t about to get sloppy or complacent just for that. There was obviously a danger to Bucky, or agent Carter and Colonel Phillips wouldn’t be wasting government recourses on protecting him. Images of Russian hit-men from the Mob disguised as janitors popped up unbidden in his mind, and it wasn’t because he had a too vivid imagination or had been watching too much TV. Being a bodyguard to prominent public figures and in the Army’s Special Forces had made things like that seem like a regular Tuesday afternoon.

But before Steve could insist on staying Brock seemed to read his mind.

“Take a load off Rogers!” He said, reaching around Steve to put his arm over his shoulders and effectively dragging Steve down the hall. “This could take a while, trust me, you’re way better off being comfortable downstairs. Jamie will find you when they’re done.” Brock’s body-language told Steve all he needed to know. This wasn’t a suggestion, it was a direct order from Mr. Pierce.

And sure, Steve could probably have pushed Brock off him and take him in a fight but that would probably only lead to him getting fired and that wouldn’t do anyone any good.

He hoped that Miss Potts’ lawyers and investigators would be able to gather enough evidence to stick Rumlow with charges. He was hoping for theft, that was had to get the man at least some time in jail, wouldn’t it? And if not the best case scenario came through at least Mr. Pierce was bound to fire Brock once he got arrested.

“No hard feelings about yesterday, ey Rogers?” Brock said after releasing Steve once they got inside the elevator. “Wasn’t personal. Jamie and I tend to get each other riled up s’all. Always did. Between you and me, it’s like the kid liked being beat up, I swear.”

“How long have you known each other?” Steve asked, choosing to ignore most of Brock’s non-apology for the bruise starting to manifest on Steve’s jaw. It could have been a lot worse (Bucky looked a lot worse) but it wasn’t pretty either.

“Why?” Brock countered, just a fraction of a second too fast for it to be casual instead of defensive.

“No reason.” Steve shrugged and tried hard for nonchalance. Lying had never been his strong suit.

Brock regarded him with suspicion for a few seconds before seeming to decide that refusing to answer would be more suspicious than whatever answer he gave. That behavior only served to make Steve sure that there was something there though, and he was suddenly glad for all the time he’d spent studying terrorists in war-torn areas all over the world up close and personal. If not for that experience Brock might have fooled him into thinking that the him wanting to know about the man and Bucky’s past was no big deal.

“Two years, thereabouts. We weren’t too bad off in the beginning actually. Then there was an… incident.” Steve raised an eyebrow expectantly, wanting Rumlow to keep going of course. He was dying to know more about Bucky’s past.

“I’m sure his version of the story is completely different than mine. But really, all I did was fall in love. But he has these illusions and crazy ideas that people are out to get him and he got so paranoid about my relationship being some huge conspiracy-theory that people ended up dying. He still won’t take any responsibility though, blames me every chance he gets.”

And honestly, Steve was stunned. That was _not_ what he’d expected at all. He didn’t know what to say to something like that, and suddenly he felt bad for not being able to picture Brock in love. That kind of loss could change a person, Steve knew that first hand. He’d lost his Ma, not a lover, but still. The people who knew him back then (admittedly there hadn’t been many) wouldn’t have recognized him if they met him today. And not just because he was three times the size he’d been then.

“’M sorry, Brock.” He finally landed on. Sorry for pushing, sorry for bringing it up, sorry for your loss – he didn’t say it but hoped that his voice conveyed them all.

“Aah.” Brock waved his hand and Steve didn’t push the subject further. It wasn’t any of his business and he had no right to pry. Suddenly he felt bad for asking to begin with. Agent Carter had said it herself – he wasn’t a spy. And if he wanted to know something about Bucky he had to ask the man himself. He doubted that this was a part of his past Bucky wanted him to know about and he felt shitty for finding out this way, instead of just letting Bucky tell him when he was ready. Or never, fuck, Steve had to remind himself that he was Bucky’s damn bodyguard. Not his friend or confident or naked-friend.

“Make sure you check out the rack on the girl in the reception.” Brock said, switching subject and attitude so fast it made Steve’s head spin. “Dancers are flexible and all but damn I miss real tits on them, you know.” Steve decided to pretend like he hadn’t heard him as they reached the ground floor and the elevator doors opened.

“Hey Darcy!” Brock boomed as the receptionist spotted them.

“Shut it assface! I already spit in your coffee, don’t make me pee in it too. You know I will.” The girl behind the counter yelled halfway across the grand lobby.

“Be nice Darcy.” Brock said as they walked up to the counter, his voice steel and all threat that made the woman glare at him but she kept whatever more nasty things she wanted to say to herself. It looked like Steve wasn’t the only one at the Company who valued job-security higher than the momentarily satisfaction of getting into it with Rumlow.

She turned around and busied herself with making coffee, putting capsules into a machine that looked more like a spaceship than a coffee-maker, and pressing a few buttons before turning back to Steve and Brock. Steve threw her an apologetic look on behalf of Brock. Turning up to meet new people with the dark haired man was obviously not the best way to make good impressions at the Company.

“Hellooo Handsome.” Darcy said as she gave Steve a once-over, cocking her hip to the side and turning on a suggestive smile instead of the glare she’d been giving Brock. Steve squirmed as he felt his cheeks go red while he tried to determine whether the receptionist was making fun of him or just trying to be polite.

“Where have you been hiding all my life?” She asked when Steve couldn’t come up with a way to say hello that wouldn’t end up with him embarrassing himself completely.

“Uhm, D.C? The Middle East. Africa or a while.” He offered, only barely managing to restrain himself from rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, just to have something to do while Darcy proceeded to look at him like she wanted to eat him alive.

“Oh. My. God. You are unreal. A soldier? Really?” She exclaimed, and Steve didn’t even bother correcting her to say that he was actually a Captain. He never did, didn’t like the way people were always surprised and suspicious of his young age. The question of what-did-you-do-to-get-to-the-top? With no hidden amount of disapproval always clear on their expression. As if they suspected and assumed that he’d only gotten there by exploiting a family name or by screwing someone to get a title he didn’t earn to have.

“I did a few tours, yeah.” He said instead. The coffee-maker picked that moment to announce that the coffee was done with a surprisingly pleasant tone, and Steve was thankful for the interruption. He tried to come up with a way to change the subject while Darcy turned to get their cups. But he didn’t need to come up with a way to distract her from the unpleasant topic of his military career since Rumlow decided to get back into the conversation.

“Darcy baby, you should’a told me earlier that a uniform is all it takes to get you to spread your legs.” Brock leered in a tone that made Steve certain that he would have backed that up by grabbing Darcy’s behind if he’d been able to reach her over the counter.

“Hey! Show the lady some respect.” Steve said, turning his most authoritative glare on Brock before he could think about it long enough to backtrack on the impulse. Just because he wasn’t starting fistfights with the man it didn’t mean that he’d let Brock bully any- and everyone. Including Bucky but starting with the receptionist. Brock might have a tragic past but that didn’t give him any right to be an ass to the people around him.

“My hero.” Darcy said, a bit sarcastic, like she appreciated the gesture but thought it was unnecessary.

She proved that the next second, elegantly managing to spill the coffee she’d made for Brock right in the center of his chest as she moved to hand it to him. Anyone who didn’t know better would surely have thought it an honest accident, but Darcy smiled brilliantly. Obviously very pleased with herself as Rumlow jumped back, cursing.

“Ooops!” Darcy said, completely unapologetic. “You can put that white horse back in the stable hero.” She added loudly enough to drown out Brock’s continued swearing, turning to Steve like Brock wasn’t even in the room anymore. Steve decided that he liked her. And that Sam would probably like her even more, she was just the fiery kind of girl he always went after.

“Steve, please. I’m no hero.” He said, extending his hand to greet her. Instead though she braced herself against the lower part of the desk on her side, hoisted herself up on the countertop and gracefully swung her legs over the desk. She landed on her feet and had Steve wrapped in a hug in two seconds flat.

Steve laughed a little in surprise, but carefully returned the hug which Darcy decided to drag out a few seconds longer when he started pulling back. When she did let go of him she did so only to start mapping his torso with her hands.

“Damn hero!” She whistled. “That is some muscle. You might even be as big as Thor. I mean, no one is as big as Thor. But as close as anyone can get.”

Steve was stuck on deciding whether to ask who Thor was or be embarrassed about the way Darcy talked about his body. Sure, spent a lot of his spare time working out and he could hold his own in a fight but he wasn’t worth the kind of look she was giving him right now. In an attempt to think about anything else and stop himself from blushing the way he always did when someone paid attention to his body he turned to Brock, who’d just gone quiet.

Brock was in the middle of stripping out of his soaked black t-shirt, not at all bothered that he was showing off his body in the middle of the reception with floor-to-ceiling windows toward a busy New York street. It wasn’t like Steve was staring, but it was impossible not to notice the fact that Brock was attractive if you overlooked the flaws in his personality.

“Maaan, I’ve got the worst luck.” Darcy complained and Steve turned back to her, confusion written all over his face. Darcy raised a really-?-eyebrow at him, which only served to confuse him more.

She rolled her eyes before explaining herself. “Super-soldier-hero with manners comes down on my shift _and_ defends my honor. But he’s only interested in his fellow soldiers. I have _the_ worst luck.”

It took Steve a minute to understand what the woman was implying, but once he did his face went flaming red and it was way too late.

“I’m not-“ He started, cut off by Rumlow’s chuckle.

“I’m flattered big guy, and I’m sure you’ve got great tits. But there’s no room for anymore dicks in the room once I get mine out.” Brock said, flexing the muscles on his torso in a way that wasn’t even lightly subtle.

“I’m not-“ Steve tried again because he _wasn’t_. Sure he was developing the worst and most inappropriate crush on his assignment who was a man. And he’d… experimented with a few things on himself. But he wasn’t _that_.

Not that he’d ever look down on anyone who was, hell, he’d even thrown a few punches at assholes on the street who though gay-bashing was a fun way to pass their evening. Point being, maybe he wasn’t completely straight but he really didn’t want a repeat of the last time that had been public knowledge. And he wasn’t far off from having a panic-attack, his heart suddenly pounding like it was in his head instead of his chest.

Breathe Steve.

Breathe.

“You want me to do what???? No way in hell Steven. It wasn’t enough the army made you crazy, they made you a fag too? No, you know what Steve, I can’t deal with this. Oh great, you’re having a hard time breathing? You don’t think this is hard for me? You just asked me to- Quit being so dramatic I swear Steve, you’re doing these things on purpose. I’m going to stay with a friend for a few nights. No don’t call me, I can’t look at you knowing you want that. I didn’t sign up for any of this, you better get your head right Steve.” The door slamming as Sharon left what was set that panic-attack off for real, his hands shaking so bad it took him ten minutes to call her only to have her ignore him, and another twenty to call Sam. That year had been rough, and why Steve’s brain always went back there he would never understand.

Breathe Steve.

Fuck why was it so hard for him to not fall apart on this job? He’d been doing _fine_ dammit. He tried to focus on the receptionist’s voice instead of getting sucked into the black hole of flashbacks to worse times.

“Oh shit. I did a thing, didn’t I?” Darcy said, her voice sounding like she was a million miles away despite being right next to him. “I totally did a thing. I’m sorry-“ Brock was laughing to himself, saying something about how now it made sense that Steve was so protective of Barnes. Like all the only reason Steve cared about the dancer was to get into his pants, which wasn’t even remotely true.

“Hi fellas.” Natasha’s voice cut filtered through in his racing brain and he managed to give her a nod as he gripped the counter of the reception to steady himself.

“Oh hey Spider-woman. Nat, look I think I did a thing. A bad thing-“ Darcy didn’t seem like the was more capable of stopping herself from rambling than Steve was from stopping his pulse from racing.

“Darcy, go get some water will you?” Natasha said calmly before heading over to Rumlow. Steve couldn’t tell what she was saying to him over the pounding of blood in his head, but it was enough to give him a haunted expression and send him practically fleeing toward the elevators.

“Steve, you with me?” She turned to him and walked up to him slowly.

“You been standing there this whole time, looking for the perfect time to save the day?” He managed to choke out, finding his breath again as at least Brock was at a more comfortable distance.

“Yes actually.” She said, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Sam used to do the same thing whenever Steve tried to convince him that he was fine by hiding behind humor like a shield.

“Well, good work on that.” Steve laughed, fingers still gripping the counter on the desk though.

“Water!” Darcy called from behind them and practically shoved a big glass of cold water in Steve’s hands. He almost dropped it before he could steady his hand enough to take a few sips.

“Where is James?” Natasha asked, voice neutral like she was testing the water. Steve was grateful for the option of taking the focus away from him and his obvious mental breakdown. Concentrating on other things always made him feel slightly better.

“He’s in a meeting with Mr. Pierce.” Steve answered and followed Natasha as she headed for the beige couches opposite the reception in the room. She made a face at that but Steve couldn’t figure out if it was a positive or negative thing reaction. She was a difficult woman to read.

“You know we don’t care right? No one here does.” She said then, sitting down on the couch and folding her legs under her, not looking at Steve which made the whole conversation a lot easier.

“I just-“ Steve didn’t really know what to say since the subject made him feel like he was losing years of progress made in therapy. He fucking hated being this weak and fragile.

“Brock isn’t going to tell anyone.” Yeah, because that kind of juicy gossip never got out. Natasha picked up on his doubt though and crossed her arms in front of her, looking extremely defensive and kind of angry that her methods (whatever they were) were being questioned.

“What, you doubt my people-skills Rogers?” She asked. “Look, if I say he isn’t going to talk, he’s not going to talk. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have.”

“Guess I’ll just have to trust you then?”

“Yes you will. And now you get to listen to Darcy tell the story of how she managed to convince Thor to give her this job not three days after she ran him over with her car.”

“Ran into him. I ran _into_ him with a car, there’s a difference between running someone over and running into them!”

“Sounds cooler if you say you ran him over.” Natasha smiled like she imagined some tricked-out action-movie.

“Not according to that law-student I dated the week after.”

Natasha gave a who-cares-about-the-law-anyway-shrug and stood from her place on the couch. “Well, I’ve got class. And Steve, you know who is a great listener?” Steve doesn’t need to hear her say it no know she’s talking about James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't turn out at all like I planned, but once I started writing this just happened so I went with it! Now I feel bad for torturing the boys like this though...
> 
> I promise some real Stucky-bonding for the next chapter! Maybe even cuddling.
> 
> I love you for reading and commenting! Let me know what you like and not and what you want to read and see if i can make it happen.


	9. The Bad day III - Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I wrote myself into a corner I didn't like very much with the last chapter and this is my attempt att steering things back in the right direction. I've got a plan for the following chapters and I promise it will get better if you bare with me! Sorry it's short.

By the time Bucky came to find Steve after his meeting Steve was hanging out with Darcy, watching her not do the work she was getting paid for. “What, I’m delegating. I’m a good delegator.” She’d said when he frowned at her as she put sticky-notes all over the counter telling someone named Ian to do this and that. She was great and talked enough that Steve had plenty to distract himself with and it had worked.

But when Steve saw the expression on Bucky’s face he felt his stomach drop. He looked small and terrified, ready to sink through the floor if it let him. Steve fought down the righteous surge to go after whoever had made Bucky look like that, because it was obviously Mr. Pierce, both of theirs boss. Judging from the way Bucky reacted to hearing the name invoked this wasn’t the first time Mr. Pierce had abused his power and treated his dancer terribly, but since Bucky stayed with the company Steve assumed that he was choosing to remain there despite his boss. It wasn’t Steve’s business to get in the middle of their obviously complicated relationship, to go in there fists raised like he tended to handle most of his problems. But fuck if he didn’t want to punch the Director for making Bucky look like that.  

 _Traumatized_ was the first thing that came to his mind, and he still doesn’t understand how Darcy couldn’t see it. She greeted the dancer with a cheerful “Sup’ Buckster!” and a wave but didn’t act like there was anything wrong with the way Bucky looked as he came to stand beside Steve. He had been completely blank – detached in a way Steve had never gotten in his years with the military. Though he’d seen the look in his fellow soldiers often enough to know what it was. A way to protect themselves from whatever terrible thing they’d just been witness to because it was too much to handle. Darcy had muttered a “rude” when Bucky seemed to glance past her, not seeing or acknowledging her at all.

“Let’s go home.” Steve said simply, leading with his body-language, careful not to touch Bucky. The dancer didn’t seem to want to be touched most of the time, and Steve didn’t want to do anything to add to the distress which was most likely buried under the blank surface. No wonder Bucky had a strong reaction to simply hearing Mr. Pierce’s name if this what he looked like after a meeting.

***

Bucky had darted for the bathroom the second they got inside and Steve heard the shower running not a full minute after. He’d stayed in there for an hour while Steve rolled his thumbs nervously, alternating between sitting at the dinner-table and the couch every five minutes.

He’d been sitting by the table when Bucky finally came out, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Steve there, like he hadn’t expected him to still be there.

“You look like shit.” He said, and Steve hadn’t doubted him. He probably still looked like he’d seen a ghost, the way he tended to do after a staved-off panickattac.

“Thanks.” Steve had winced a bit, considering giving Bucky a right-back-at-you but that wouldn’t have been remotely true. Bucky had looked terrible going into the bathroom, but coming out he was like a new person. Hair still damp, dressed in soft gray sweats and a white t-shirt which made him look so young and vulnerable Steve had to fight himself so he wouldn’t pull the dancer into a hug and never let him go. The shower must have done him good, like he’d washed whatever Pierce had said to him down the drain like it’d never happened at all. Steve knew better than to be fooled though of course – most likely Bucky had been able to push whatever was weighing in him deep down using apathy and disassociation, and things like that never stayed buried for long. Steve should know, he was the expert on pushing things down instead of dealing with them after all.

“Hey, I didn’t mean-“ Bucky looked apologetic at the way Steve winced.

“Nah, ‘S true.” Steve had interrupted. Then, he figured that Bucky could use a distraction from himself he added “Rough week is all.” Which of course was about the worst thing he could have said. Bucky had looked like Steve had punched him, or maybe worse, since getting punched didn’t seem to faze the dancer all that much.

***

Steve doesn’t really know how they got here exactly, but he’s got Bucky’s feet on his lap and they’re watching the hairless little man with saucer-eyes telling Harry Potter that he can’t go back to Hogwarts this year. The air smells like vodka which is so Russian that there isn’t a single word in English letters on the bottle, and Steve is the worst fucking bodyguard ever. He is distracted and can barely keep himself together for a day, and he’s gotten way too caught up in this assignment. The first thing tomorrow morning he is going to call Director Fury and agent Carter both and tell them that they’ll have to find someone else for this job. He’s clearly not an asset to them, Bucky was probably better off before Steve came along and started having mental breakdowns up and down his place of work.

He should probably call now, in fact. Office hours are over but Director Fury is always available in case of emergencies and he doubts agent Carter keeps nine-to-five-hours. It’s just, if he made that call he’d be out of Bucky’s life. There’d be no reason for him to even stay in New York since his own life is back in D.C. And even if he didn’t live in D.C there was no reason for why Bucky would want him around. They’d had a handful of conversations and most of them had ended terribly, with Steve putting his foot in his mouth at best. So in addition to being terrible at his job he’s also selfish enough that he’s considering putting Bucky, the man he claims to care about, in jeopardy because he wants to stay close to him. Sharon was definitely right when she’d said he was weak.

He doesn’t call, and Bucky puts down the phone he’s been paying attention to for the last fifteen minutes.

“I thought you liked these movies?” Steve asks, nodding toward the now abandoned phone. Bucky turns away from the TV, looks at Steve and starts repeating the lines of the characters on the screen perfectly without missing a single beat until Steve swats him on the ankle, laughing. Bucky laughs too, the amount of vodka he’s downed since emerging from the shower having an effect on him and Steve almost feels like he imagined the way Bucky was right after his meeting with Mr. Pierce. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Bucky wasn’t plastered this early in the afternoon on a weekday Steve would have thought that he’d misread the situation, maybe overreacted. Now he was wondering if maybe Mr. Pierce didn’t have a point about Bucky bordering on alcoholism.

“Nat says you had run-in with Rumlow. M’ sorry about that.” Bucky said as the kids on the screen was being attacked by a particularly angry tree. His words wasn’t slurring but another shot and they might start.

“It was nothing.” Steve said automatically, cringing at how unconvincing that sounded, even to himself. He cast a quick glance to the phone on the coffee-table, wondering exactly how much Natasha had told Bucky about what had happened while Bucky was being scolded by his boss. Or whatever had happened in that office.

“Stevie” Steve tried to ignore the way his lips tried to twitch up in a smile at the use of that nickname. "You’ve seen me do coke and blow a guy, and that barely registers on a scale of bad things I’ve done in my life. You really think I’m in a position do judge you for _anything_?” Steve’s ear heated up at the mention of that incident, but Natasha’s advice to talk to Bucky refused to leave his mind.

“It’s just. Last time I told someone it didn’t go over too well.” Steve said after a few moments of silence, vaguely and noncommittedly.

“What happened?” Bucky asked, like he really cared even though he didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.

“My girlfriend left.” Steve answered, a hand coming back to rub the back of his neck consciously. “She came back eventually, but that was kind of a breaking point I guess. I, um, had a panic-attack. It was embarrassing.” If he was being unprofessional and irresponsible and planning to quit tomorrow he might as well go big right? And Bucky was drunk enough that Steve was pretty certain he wasn’t going to remember much of the conversation. He might as well unload.

“Nat didn’t say what, and it’s not my business-“ Bucky started, and Steve couldn’t really handle the softness in his voice.

“I’m bisexual.” He said. He totally said it, he didn’t blurt it out like a fumbling teenager or anything. At all.

“Your girlfriend is a bitch.” Bucky said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Was.” Steve clarified.

“Good riddance.” Bucky summarized, and a minute later he’d turned his body around completely, his head resting in Steve’s lap instead of his feet. Steve felt touched by the gesture, even though he was too surprised to say anything about it. This was Bucky saying that he didn’t care – that he wasn’t going to leave or try and get some distance between them because of Steve’s confession like Sharon had.

“Now watch this, s’ important.” Bucky said, for the first time not flinching away from Steve’s touch as Steve carefully put a hand on his shoulder before turning his attention back to the TV. His world hadn’t collapsed because he’d said the words out loud, Bucky hadn’t recoiled and didn’t seem to think he was disgusting. Logically Steve knew that there was no way he’d get that kind of reaction from the dancer who was obviously gay himself. But it had been such a big deal for him for so long that he’d been expecting the ground to at least start shaking a bit.

He tried to focus on the movie, turns out Harry Potter wasn't just for kids at all, and not the ridiculous warmth spreading through his body as he started stroking Bucky's shoulder softly and the other man relaxed into his touch. The reason Bucky let Steve touch him was obviously the booze in his system, they'd be back to the dancer shying away from any kind of physical contact from Steve the next morning. Steve had to stop being so pathetic, craving touch from any- and everyone. So fucking needy, Sharon had said, suffocating.


End file.
